


Bitterness or Sympathy

by thecolorashley



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, M/M, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecolorashley/pseuds/thecolorashley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dystopian alternate universe where werewolves rule humans in a totalitarian regime, human Stiles Stilinski is ripped from his family and friends and placed into the clutches of the powerful Peter Hale, a werewolf with a particular lust for torture. But the path for survival is littered with many challenges and many interesting souls, including the strange, yet intriguing Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Great War

The last time Stiles Stilinski had seen his mother alive, it had been snowing. 

It seemed appropriate enough, although at the time, Stiles had been too young to appreciate it. He couldn’t have been more than twelve. Maybe thirteen? Naturally, a boy that young wasn’t contemplating the grim irony between the vast whiteness, the metaphorical color of purity, being stained with the red blood of his fellow man while a war raged right outside the hospital walls. He wasn’t even capable of anger, despite it all. The Great War, as they’d come to call it, and the brutality of it all hadn’t done much to phase the young boy. However, the idea of losing his mother was enough to send chills of terror down his spine. But he couldn’t think on that now.

No. Twelve, maybe thirteen, year old Stiles instead sat at the side of his mothers hospital bed side, squeezed her hand and wondered, of all things, about airplanes.

“How long from here to… Finland?” Stiles asked, naming country after country while his mother softly chuckled and answered to the best of her knowledge. To him, she was the smartest woman in the world. How did she even know so many things? She must have really paid attention in school. Maybe Stiles should pay better attention to his classes…

A loud crash rang through the hospital room and the lights flickered over head.

“From here to Ireland?”

Mrs. Stilinski coughed in response and Stiles squeezed her hand a bit tighter.

“When you get better, can we take a plane somewhere?” Mrs. Stilinski smiled weakly at her son and nodded.

“Where will we go?” She asked him softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Neither of them mentioned how hard she was trembling. 

“Everywhere.” 

Outside, the snow fell, blinding the world to its mistakes. 

\--

Five years later and Stiles had not seen snow since. It would forever remain one of those things, like potted sun flowers and pianos, that forced memories of his mother back into his mind like a drill driving a nail. 

Luckily for him, it didn’t snow in California that same way it had in Denver. As far as he knew, maybe it didn’t even snow in Denver anymore. It had seemed that the war had changed the entire world. It was plausible that even the weather patterns themselves had shifted in response.

Stiles couldn’t recall when exactly the Great War between man and werewolf had begun. It just sort of.. happened. His father had done what he could, in those earlier years, to keep Stiles in the dark about it. There was really no easy way to explain to a child that humanity itself was under attack.

However, despite Mr. Stilinski’s efforts, the war was in everything. There was no avoiding it. Back in those days, Stiles couldn’t wrap his mind around why the wolves hated them all so much.

The wolves had begun on either side of the country, working their way inward. LA fell, quickly followed by New York. They reached Chicago only days before Denver. Of course, when the wolves arrived, they were met by hundreds of human soldiers. They didn’t even give the humans a chance to surrender. Hundreds were slaughtered that night, their bodies quickly layered over with snow and forgotten.

Stiles had only left the hospital that night with his mothers urging. Now, a much older Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if he should have just stayed at her side. Maybe then he could have just died bravely. Even that would have beaten the pathetic existence he now lived, relocated to Beacon Hills, California, where he spent every single day of his life questioning the cruelty of God, if there was one.

Beacon Hills was one of the many reservations the wolves had relocated the surviving humans to. At first, it had been nothing but dried wood and dirt. Years later, at least they’d been able to build themselves homes, stores, and churches. If one ignored the large, ominous fence caging them in, you could almost forget they were prisoners. 

Almost.

At age eighteen, Stiles trailed his pale finger tips across that very fence, his best friend, Scott McCall, trailing not too far behind him. They’d traveled far enough from the busiest parts of town to escape most wandering eyes as Stiles casually grasped at random bits of the fence. He hadn’t seen anyone even touch it in the years since they’d arrived. There had to be at least one weak spot.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, man…” Scott mumbled for at least the twelfth time since they’d left work that day, shoving his hands nervously into the pocket of his hoodie. Stiles ignored Scott, gripping at another area of the fence. 

“It has to be around here somewhere..” Stiles grumbled, eyes wide with concentration. 

The two of them had been volunteering at the small shack Beacon Hills called a hospital for the past couple weeks which had, subsequently, lead to an increase in their trouble making. A hospital seemed to be a fine place to collect information that wasn’t initially meant for their ears. Prime example being, two days ago a man was brought in bleeding from what looked like claw marks all over his body. Stiles had simply been trying to stop the bleeding the best he could while doctors and nurses rushed around him. The man had suddenly grabbed at Stiles shirt, pulling him close to his face.

“There’s a hole..” The man had gasped out. “A hole.”

Of course, for all Stiles knew, the man had been talking about a hole in his clothing. But he couldn’t seem to shake the irritating little voice in his head that immediately screamed, “He means the fence! A hole in the fence!” 

It didn’t take much to convince Scott to join him. He had about as much reason to hate the wolves as Stiles did, despite the fact that neither of them ever vocalized these reasons.

Scott and Stiles had met weeks before Denver fell when Scott’s mother had been Stiles’ mothers nurse. At the time, it still seemed very possible Mrs. Stilinski could recover. Or, at least, that was what they repeatedly told the boys.

When the wolves took Chicago, Scott and Stiles had both been huddled into Mrs. McCall’s bed, her arm around each of them. At the time, Scott’s dad had been drafted into the war. He’d gone without a word of protest, kissing his son and wife goodbye with a half hearted promise to return.

It would be the last time Scott or Melissa McCall would see him.

“Jesus!” Stiles exclaimed, suddenly crouching in front of a patch of fence. At this point, they’d traveled far from the town, surrounded by nothing but the quiet of the woods. “I.. I think I found it!”

Scott quickly joined his friend, eyeing a small area in which the fence did not fully meet the dirt. It would be barely large enough for them to squeeze through but it was possible.

“Come on!” Stiles pushed at the fence, licking his lips excitedly. Scott, however, ran a hand through his shaggy, dark hair and sighed.

“I don’t know, Stiles.. We don’t even know what’s out there.”

“We know it’s not here.” Stiles answered quickly, not even taking a moment to tear his eyes away from the potential freedom.

“But my mom…. What about your dad?”

Stiles paused, his knuckles white from his grip on the fence. He really didn’t have an answer for Scott. In fact, he didn’t even have an answer for himself. The thought of escape was so blindingly white it was all he could do but to assume it was his only option.

Stiles thought about the man in the hospital, bloodied from the markings of supernatural claws and teeth. His screams echoed through Stiles mind, reverberating through his skull like the voice of a lone actor in an empty auditorium. For only the briefest moment, the screams sounded eerily similar to his father.

“Okay..” Stiles finally breathed out, slowly straightening himself and scratching at the back of his neck in his typical fidgeting manner. “Alright.. Alright, alright..”

Next to him, Scott sadly leaned against the fence and watched his friend sympathetically through large brown eyes. They’d spoken of escaping every since they were first brought here as children, always in hushed whispers under blankets and behind locked doors. Neither of them had ever really considered the next step. Escape.. And then what?

“No.” Stiles finally declared, after a couple minutes of shaking his head and wringing his hands. “No, we’re doing this. We’ll.. We’ll..” He stumbled, mentally grabbing at words unsure which ones to string together. “Okay, we’ll both go home by curfew and see our parents. We’ll go through the motions, the usual. Collect a couple things for maybe a week or two. And then we’ll both meet back here at 1am. By then, your mom should be asleep and my dad will be working a night shift. The guards switch shifts around one so they’ll be too preoccupied to notice us. It’s golden, man!”

Despite Stiles escalating enthusiasm, he was only met by a look of upset resignation from Scott.

“What?” Stiles barked, nearly recoiling from his own venom. “This is what we’ve always wanted.”

“Stiles.. I can’t leave my mom.” Scott answered slowly, digging his hands into his pockets. “Imagine they realize we’re missing and they…” Scott stopped himself. “I don’t know.”

Stiles watched his friend in disbelief, his jaw falling incredulously. It was always suppose to be them. The two of them. Stiles and Scott. S squared. The dyanamic duo. Without Scott, what was Stiles?

Stiles opened his mouth once, then twice before snapping it back shut, at a loss of words. After a moment, Stiles glanced back down at the fence, gripping it in a single fist and shaking it roughly. He was so tired of feeling like a caged animal. He didn’t want to leave his dad but what if he could find some help? This couldn’t be the state of the entire world, he was sure of it!

“I’ll be here at one a.m.” Stiles finally answered, his eyes hardening before adding, “I hope you’ll be here too.” 

\--

After hours of deliberation, Stiles had finally resigned not to tell his father about his plans to leave. At least, he planned on not telling his father should his father ever come home. 

Realistically, it wasn’t that odd for Mr. Stilinski to be away for such long hours, or to even not come home at all some nights. He worked as a makeshift sheriff for the town and a recent wave of famine had lead to an increase in thievery and attacks that kept him busy. Most nights, Stiles enjoyed the silence. It helped him concentrate and he could do what he wanted without interference from his father.

The cruel irony was that, tonight of all nights was the one night Stiles silently pleaded for his father to come home. It would be his only chance to say goodbye.

Around midnight, a large bell rang through the otherwise silence of the Stilinski household. He’d already gone through the motions of a typical night routine: turning off the lights, locking the door, ext. and he was aware it had to of been midnight by the number of times a guard had passed since curfew. These guards were fully uniformed werewolves, with shot guns slung across their backs. Not that they needed fire arms when their own speed and strength easily out weighed even the fittest of humans.

At eight oclock, the silhouette of the first guard signaling curfew had passed the living room window. Since then, every hour on the hour, three more had passed. 

Now, as midnight approached, Stiles curled himself onto their living room couch and awaited the familiar shadow. It was the closest thing to a clock he had at the moment. In another hour, another shadow would appear and then swiftly return to the guard base at the front of the town. Then would be when Stiles would escape.

But no shadow appeared in the window. On this night of all nights, something was amiss.

Stiles barely had a moment to consider what this could mean when a large knocking at the front door startled him from the couch to the floor. For a moment, he just sat there, paralyzed. In all his years of living in Beacon Hills, no one knocked this late at night. Unless… 

Had the werewolves realized his plan to escape and come for him? Had they gone for Scott too? Did they already have his dad?! 

 

The knocking came three more times before silence again settled in around the teenager. Stiles slowly raised a hand and pressed it firmly over his mouth, attempting to stifle his breathing which was now coming in short, panicked bursts. From somewhere behind him, a streak of moonlight pushed its way out of the clouds and through the living room curtains, bathing him in light. That had to be a good sign, right? Light invading the darkness or whatever? Sounds like something his literature teacher had rambled at some point. This was good news! This was divine intervention. He was going to be just-

It was at that moment that a large, unpleasantly hairy creature crashed its way through Stiles front door.

Alright then, fuck literary symbols.


	2. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has shown me support already! Wow, you guys are fantastic! All of your kudos and comments mean so much to me! If there's something you don't like or would really like to see, don't be afraid to let me know! I'm still pretty open about where I'm going to take this. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :)

In his younger years, Stiles hadn’t thought there could be must worse than sitting at a school desk for hours at a time. However, fifteen days post arrest, Stiles found himself pining for his small, wooden desk. At least at school there had been human communication.

After an officer had broken through their front door, Stiles had been knocked cold and awoke a few hours later to three cement walls and a fourth wall made of parallel iron bars. The boy racked his brain for places he could be but nothing came to mind. As far as he knew, Beacon Hills didn’t even have a prison. Any quarrels between citizens was handled by his father. Any quarrels with guards meant public execution.

Stiles ran a shaky hand across his face, leaning his hips against one of the walls. School, focus on school. Focus on sitting next to Scott in English, tossing little balls of paper at the teacher when her back is turned. It’s a Monday so Scott would be in school. He probably forgot his homework, as was his tendency after weekends. Was he wondering what had happened to Stiles? Or had they taken Scott, too? Holy shit, what if they killed Scott!

“Come on, man..” Stiles whispered to himself, his breath coming ragged. His knees sank slightly into themselves, wobbling from the effort of holding up his body. 

This would be day fifteen without food. He didn’t know how long it took a person until they would officially starved to death but every day his body grew weaker. Internally, he hoped that maybe he’d just die in his sleep.There seemed to be at least a little dignity in that. 

Dignity. At first, that had been the basis of Stiles concerns. However, with each grumble of his stomach he was beginning to feel a little foolish. Would he ever learn to just keep his trap shut?

“Feeding time.” A large, gruff looking man had yelled down the hallway on Stiles third day of imprisonment. He was holding a bowl of what looked like week old meat and... were those maggots?! At the time, Stiles still had the energy to hold his stomach and feign vomiting.

“Are you taking special orders?” Stiles had asked, pressing his face against the bars. “Because I tend to take my meals larvae-free, thanks. Just a personal thing.” 

The man smirked at Stiles, saying that it was the rotten meat or nothing. To which, naturally, Stiles had responded, “Nothing” because his mouth didn’t take the time to check in with his brain. The man then shrugged and continued his way down the hallway, completely unperturbed by leaving Stiles to starve. Stiles hadn’t seen him or any sign of food again. His water source had come from the leaking window high above his head. Stiles tilted his head back against the wall and caught a few droplets in his mouth, trying not to think too hard about where the water might be coming from.

At the close of day ten, Stiles found himself stretched out across the dirty cement floor and weighing the pros and cons of death. Maybe if he concentrated really hard, his body would simply stop working and he’d be able to slip peacefully away. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. Nothing happened. Damn him and his well functioning organs!

Stiles slowly raised his head, balancing his upper torso on his elbows and let his eyes rake down his body. He had been skinny to start with… Now he just looked pathetic.

The teenager reached down and, with a bit of effort, pulled his dirtied t-shirt from his torso and surveyed the damage. His ribs stuck out disgustingly so and his hips were barely wide enough to keep his jeans up. It was a sight atrocious enough to twist Stiles stomach. If he’d had anything in him, he may have vomited. 

In a sudden burst of anger, Stiles ripped his t-shirt into two, pulled at the material until it formed a long strip. He then tied that on his head as a make shift bandana. It wasn’t much, but it was the only sign of rebellion he could come up with. He’d seen a lot of heroes wear bandanas before. He didn’t know why but whatever.

It was with this thought that Stiles let himself fall back to the concrete, his skull banging pathetically against the ground. 

As dawn broke on day fifteen, Stiles had barely moved from his position on the ground. He slept when his body would allow it but mostly he just lay there and thought about his parents. He wondered what his mother would have done in this situation. Had he been right to back talk to the guard? Or had he let personal pride get in the way of survival. More than anything, he thought about his dad and he wondered where he had been that night. Every time his brain drifted to the word “abandonment”, he mentally switched gears. Blame was not that last emotion he wanted to feel before...

“I’m going to die..” He whispered, his voice cracking from lack of hydration. 

“Not yet.” A voice suddenly boomed from the other side of the bars. Stiles heart jumped but his body didn’t have the energy to. Instead, he lazily let his eyes fall to the side to examine the speaker. It was the same guard from before with the meat, however, this time he was dressed in a button up and wasn’t holding anything edible. 

Stiles opened his mouth to respond but was silenced by the sound of metal scratching against metal. It took him a moment to realize the guard was opening the gate. Was this it? Were they going to kill him now?

“Get up.” The man demanded, but Stiles remained where he was. If they were going to execute him, they’d have to drag his boney ass the whole way there.

“Make me.” Stiles managed to croak, his eyes narrowed and angry.

The guard simply sighed as if he’d heard that many times before and stepped into the prison, grabbing Stiles by the forearm and lifting him into the air. Stiles couldn’t stifle the groan that slipped past his lips as it felt like every bone in his body was on the precipice of snapping into two.

“Are you gonna walk or what?” The guard snapped when Stiles wouldn’t lock his knees into place and stand.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” Stiles tried responding, his voice barely audible at this point. However, the guard must have gotten the point because, with an irritated sigh, he roughly threw Stiles lanky body over his right shoulder and started back down the hallway.

\--

Even after being carried out of the prison, being put into a car, then roughly pulled back out and blind folded, no one had attempted to put a new shirt on Stiles. Which he wouldn’t have even noticed himself had the air in the car not been set to nearly freezing. Goddamn wolves. At least it helped feed his hero fantasy. There were moments in which he’d let his eyes flutter shut and imagine himself buff and powerful. It was a nice contrast to the reality of his disgustingly skinny limbs and pale face. He imagined a red bandana strapped across his forehead instead of the limp white material loosely falling across his face. He imagined he was strong.

It may have been the lack of food that helped fuel his imagination but the realty of the fantasy made it all the more painful when the car came to a stop and his eyes flew open. He wasn’t strong, but his captors were.

Arriving at their destination, the guard grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and threw a sort of sack over his face before dragging him along behind him. Every step felt like hell but he could only imagine who might be watching him. The windows had been tinted so it was very possibly he was being marched to his death that moment.

After what felt like hours of walking, Stiles felt a large hand press against his chest halting him, then another on his shoulders pushing him to his knees. He patiently awaited a sword, a gun, anything to end it all.

“You imbecile.” A voice above him suddenly burst from somewhere above him. Stiles jumped slightly, biting his lip. This didn’t seem like an execution? “Stilinski isn’t a boy, he’s much older. You’ve got the wrong person.” The voice continued and Stiles twitched uncomfortably under his sack. Were they talking about his father? 

“What do I do with him then?” Asked the voice of his guard, suddenly sounding quite a bit less intimidating.

“Well, he’s a human. They’re quite a responsibility, young man. They require lots of love and attention.” The man rolled sarcastically, clicking his tongue. Stiles felt his guard shift uncomfortably beside him. “Or you could do your fucking job and find me Stilinski.” The voice paused before adding, “This one? Kill it.” There was no humor in the man’s voice this time.

The resounding sound of heels started away from Stiles and a strong grip grasped his shoulder. For a moment, he nearly sighed. Was this finally death? The words of the mysterious man before echoed through Stiles head, then. There were no surviving Stilinski's beside his dad and him.. What could they possibly want with his dad? He’d lost one parent, he wouldn’t lose another-

“WAIT!” Stiles suddenly screamed, his chest immediately aching from the effort. The footsteps stopped and Stiles slouched a little lower, falling further onto the floor. After a moment, the footsteps sounded closer and closer until a hand was pulling the bag from Stiles head.

His vision was suddenly flooded with light, painfully so, and Stiles realized he was inside of a large mansion. He wasn’t at an execution at all. 

The man he’d heard speaking before stood before him, tall and middle aged, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. However, there was something else behind that gaze that sent a chill down Stiles spine.

“Well?” The man rolled.

“I’m Stilinski..” Stiles breathed out, struggling to keep his eyes steady with the man’s. “I am Stilinski.”

The man’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, before finally breaking into a wide wicked grin. Stiles bit his lip, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Ah.” He mused, licking his lips. “Well then, Mr. Stilinski. Welcome. I’m Peter Hale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Chapter three will be up asap! I want to spend a little more time on it to make sure I capture Peter correctly. He's a pretty complex character. So sassy but so evil!


	3. No Man

Before her death, Stiles mother had been extraordinarily gifted when it came to advice. In fact, Stiles used to say it was as if she were born to be a mother. He was certain she must have read some sort of “Perfect Parenting” book before his birth. And, despite only spending about twelve years of his life with her, Stiles molded many of his decisions around advice she had given him in his younger years. 

“No man is greater than another.” He could distinctly hear her saying, in a soft voice like silk. Perhaps if he’d known he hadn’t had many years left with her, he would have crawled into her lap and asked her to explain. 

Unfortunately, at such a young age, Stiles had not been graced with the gift of foresight and was instead plagued with the idea that he’d have his mother forever by his side. As these things go, that wasn’t the case. So instead, Stiles had nodded without really listening, only to spend the next years of his life imagining scenarios in which he hadn’t been selfish with the time they had together.

These thoughts swam through Stiles head as the reality of the situation set in. Currently, he was kneeling in front of the most powerful werewolf in the entire state with barely enough strength to keep his eyes open. ‘No man is greater than another.’ True or not, Stiles repeated the phrase over and over in his mind, successfully repressing the shudder threatening to run up his spine as Peter Hale’s intense gaze wandered across Stiles’ body. This man.. er, wolfman.. was no better than he. Just because he was much taller and stronger and more powerful and richer and..

“Get out.” Peter barked at the guard who nearly jumped out of his clothes before swiftly turning on his heels and escaping the large foyer. Lucky bastard..

Stiles held his breath, concentrating on his mothers voice as Peter slowly circled him. Stiles carefully watched the floor, considering the possibility that the alpha might get bored and simply go away. However the intensity of his gaze seemed to say otherwise. He wasn’t about to leave Stiles alone anytime soon.

Peter paused directly in front of Stiles, who’s stomach immediately twisted unpleasantly. ‘No man is greater…’

With inhuman grace, Peter crouched down and pressed his pointer finger under Stiles chin, forcing the boys face upward. Stiles’ hazel eyes slowly met the alpha’s intense gaze of red, his face nauseatingly calm. 

“What do you-what do you want?” Stiles finally managed through tufts of frightened breaths.

“Don’t insult yourself.” Peter cooed, his nails extending slightly and pressing into the skin under Stiles neck. “You’re much smarter than that. You know what I want.”

Stiles swallowed nervously, wincing as Peter’s nails slightly pierced further into his skin. “No, I don’t.” 

Peter chuckled darkly, despite his eyes narrowing humorlessly. “Well, according to you, I’ve already found it. Strange, though. Last I was aware, the Stilinski I was looking for was a few feet taller and a bit wider around the waist.” 

“I’ve been um.. eating a lot more soy.” Stiles choked out sarcastically, his eyes fluttering as he felt his own hot blood pool around the alpha’s claw. “Good for the heart.” 

Peter paused, his brow furrowing as if calculating what route was best to take with the unruly teenager. Finally, he decided to stand from his crouched stance, bringing Stiles up with him by the single finger under his chin. Stiles entire body trembled, grasping pathetically at Peter’s clawed hand. He wasn’t exactly a picture of dignity right now but, if it meant saving his father, then he’d do what he could. 

“You are going to tell me where Stilinski is.” Peter demanded coldly, enunciating each syllable. 

“I told you..” Stiles started but before he could even finish, a low growl escaped the back of Peter’s throat and he dug two more nails into the sensitive skin on Stiles neck, blood waterfalling down his skin and across the front of his bare chest. 

“I can be very persuasive.” Peter breathed out. “Don’t make me persuade you.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Stiles gasped, gripping Peter’s wrist uselessly. Peter slowly retracted his claws and stepped back, leaving Stiles to cup his hands under his chin to catch some of the dripping blood. He could already feel his head spinning and his knees wobbling. “I’m his son..” His whispered through clenched teeth, angrily catching Peter’s gaze and holding it. 

Inwardly, he wondered if his mother could see this and he prayed for forgiveness. 

“Look.” Stiles began, licking his lips nervously. “Just kill me, do whatever you want. Just leave my dad alone, okay?”

Peter’s eyes fell past Stiles before calmly demanding, “Tell me where he is.” 

Stiles swallowed back a panicked sob. He could feel his lack of nutrients and blood pulling him into darkness and he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to beg for his father’s life. “Come on!” Stiles yelled angrily, his voice echoing off the foyer walls. Peter’s eyes found the boy again and settled there curiously, as if he couldn’t imagine why someone would care for another so much. “Just take me.. He can.. I mean, he's old. He's got brittle bones! You have no use for him.” Stiles took a deep breath, his mothers voice reaching a near scream inside his mind. ‘No man is greater than another…’ 

“I don’t know what he’s done to upset you.. but my dad is no greater than I. There’s nothing he’s done that I wouldn’t.. Take me.” He whispered.

Stiles’ eyes held Peter’s for what felt like eternity before Peter began circling Stiles once more. However, this time, the alpha paused directly behind him and leaned forward, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Tempting.. I’ve always wanted a pet.” Peter growled into Stiles’ ear. Stiles vision blurred and he suddenly realized his knees were giving out. However, before he could hit the ground, Peter had his arms wrapped around him keeping him in a standing position. He had no more strength to argue. Just enough for one last word-

“Please.” 

Peter was absolutely still and Stiles tried to ignore the burning sensation of his skin against Peter’s clothing. He tried to ignore Peter’s hot breathe against the back of his neck. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for but, at least, he knew it might be enough to save his dad.

“Fine.” Peter growled just as everything went black.

\--

When Stiles awoke, he was laying on his back in an unfamiliar room. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been out but, from what he could tell, his neck had ceased bleeding and the ache in his stomach had slightly subsided. In fact, someone had managed to bandage his wounds, clean off the blood, and change his clothes without disturbing him. 

Stiles shook the chill that came with that thought. Peter didn’t come across as a caretaker, nevertheless the idea of Peter’s hands on Stiles without him being aware wasn’t exactly comforting. 

At that thought, Stiles quickly pushed himself into a seated position. Last he remembered, he had collapsed into the alphas arms before blacking out. So where was Peter now? Stiles nervously scratched at his hands, bit his lip, and glanced side to side. The room closely resembled that of a hotel room, including lace curtains and a small coffee table next to the bed he awoke on, which was covered in a tacky, patterned bed spread. Didn’t really seem like something a malicious, blood thirsty werewolf would pick out but, hey, what did he know.

Maybe dogs liked playing fetch and werewolves had a knack for interior design?

After a moment, Stiles swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up, testing his own strength. Beside some soreness, he felt golden! What the hell did they do to him while he slept?

Or maybe… He wasn’t dreaming, right? There was no way he could have imagined two weeks trapped inside that underground prison. The pains were too real. Not to mention, no nightmare could ever twist his stomach like that of Peter Hale. No. There was no way he could be dreaming. But then again, where the hell was he?!

A soft breeze pushed its way past the lace curtains, tickling Stiles cheek and he suddenly realized that the window adjacent to him had been left open. Maybe he was back in Beacon Hills! Despite the fact that his plans to escape had been foiled, he was oddly relieved. He just needed to look outside!

The teenager rushed to the window, nearly biting his lip off in excitement. He knew there was no way this all could have been real. Honestly, what could a werewolf want with a scraggling teenager like him? There was nothing he could do that Peter Hale couldn’t do twenty times faster. It was all some sick joke. They were just testing him. And he must have passed!

Stiles let out a dry laugh of relief, reaching the window. Home sweet-

Stiles jaw fell open. 

Iron bars covered the fourth story window, which over looked miles and miles of foreign green land. He couldn’t even bring himself to choke back a sob. Instead, Stiles simply stood there stunned.

Allowing the lace to fall back into place, hiding the iron bars, Stiles fell back against the bed, his eyes wide in astonishment. He was just so sure…

The sudden twist of the doorknob nearly sent Stiles heart over the edge as it was already beating a mile a minute. If the werewolves didn’t kill him, his own jumpiness sure as hell would. The door roughly swung open, banging against the adjacent wall.

Then in walked Peter Hale, his eyes intense and mouth pulled into a cold sneer.

This was no dream. His nightmare was real and walking toward him with a blood curdling grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh Peter Hale.. It's unhealthy how much I adore thee. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed! As always, let me know if you liked it or if there's something you'd like to see happen in later chapters! Thanks for all the support! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at thecolourashley.tumblr.com


	4. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been keeping up with this story, I'd highly advise you to go back and reread chapter one! I completely changed it so you guys can better understand the backstory. Thank you for all the support so far! Enjoy this chapter!

Stiles hopped to his feet the moment the door swung open, reluctantly meeting the gaze of Peter Hale. Peter wasn’t much taller than him and, if lycanthropy hadn’t been a factor, Stiles would have been pretty confident he could have outrun, possibly even fought off, the older man standing before him.

Unfortunately for Stiles, appearances were something he’d learned long ago not to rely on. No matter how docile this man looked, Stiles knew underneath was a black heart that could at any moment rip Stiles to pieces without a second thought. He didn’t need Peter’s threats. He knew what werewolves were like.. He’d seen them in action. Animals disguised as humans, that’s what they were. He’d seen first hand the damage they were capable of. Especially after what they’d done to his mother.

Stiles’ eyes darkened as he pushed that memory far from his mind. Even in a world riddled with the supernatural, the dead were as they would remain forever. Thinking about his mother would simply cloud his mind with misery and right now he needed to focus on getting information from Peter about his dad.

Peter licked his lips and took a step forward, surveying Stiles like he was a stain in the rug. An inconvenience. In fact, Stiles noticed, Peter looked surprised to even see him? As if he hadn’t entered this room to maim and torture him. Were werewolves even capable of anything else?

“How did you get into this room?” Peter asked suddenly. 

“I don’t… What?” Stiles gaped. Was Peter.. kidding? What kind of game was he playing at.

Peter sighed like he might at an insolent child. “It’s very simple. Those strange, little things attached to your legs are called your feet and at some point, you must have-“

“I woke up in here, jackass.” Stiles immediately bit back. He tried to internally regret the insult, he really did. But the look of shock, no matter how temporary it was, on Peter’s face was well worth whatever punishment he might take for it.

Peter’s eyes narrowed, mouth slightly agape, but Stiles stood his ground. Despite the evident fear in his shaking hands and breath, his large eyes stared unwaveringly at the werewolf as if challenging him. Do something. 

Finally, Peter shook his head and chuckled, making his way past Stiles without even a second glance. Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little dumb. He almost would have preferred Peter physically hit him instead of just walking away with that sly little smirk. Stiles felt his face flush. To Peter Hale, he was just a toddler with balled fists. Nothing more.

Across the room, Peter threw open the drawer of a dusty looking wooden desk and began rifling through the paper contents inside. Stiles simply watched him, wondering if the werewolf would leave in the same strange way he had come in. What was he looking for anyway?! Stiles brain spat venomously. Not to mention, why was Peter surprised to see him there? Had Peter just left him in the foyer earlier, laying on the ground and bleeding onto the tile? 

Stiles resisted the scoff. What a host. Though, he supposed, maybe that was customary with werewolves. He was surprised they even bothered with homes. Why not just burrow into a den somewhere like the animals they were..

Stiles bit his lip, feeling his face flush with blood and his stomach twist in contempt. Shut up, every part of him screamed. Maybe if you’re quiet, Peter will just go away and leave you-

“Why were you looking for my dad?” He demanded. Well.. fuck.

Peter didn’t even pause in his search, didn’t glance up, instead just kept rifling through the mass amounts of paper work. What the hell could be so important in there? 

“Hey!” Stiles tried again, a bit louder, as Peter pulled a wrinkled piece of parchment from the pile, investigating its content. “Jesus, I know you werewolves aren’t exactly the picture of intelligence but those things on your head.. They’re called ears, asshole!”

Again, Peter ignored the kid, tucking the paper into the pocket of his pants and bee-lining it for the doorway. No. NO fuck that! This guy owed Stiles answers!

“Is your hearing just as bad as your manners or what?” Stiles demanded, stepping into the pathway of the alpha. 

In the blink of an eye, quicker than Stiles could even process, Peter suddenly had a clawed hand over Stiles throat, nearly carrying him half way across the room and pressing his back into the barred window. Stiles eyes widened incredulously, already envisioning the large parallel bruises forming on his back.

“Brute force.” Stiles nodded sarcastically, concentrating hard on keeping his voice steady. “Intimidating.”

That same, sickening sly grin spread across his features, Peter tightened his grip on Stiles neck. Well, he had meant it sarcastically but there was no denying.. Peter was still pretty intimidating. He tried not to notice the way the werewolf’s eyes narrowed in pleasure when Stiles winced. He might as well have been a rabbit and Peter was just playing with his food. Sick bastard.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Peter began, his tone even. Peter gently ran his claws across the skin of Stiles cheek, moving downward toward his collar bone. Stiles opened his mouth to object and Peter pressed a bit further down onto his windpipe, silencing him. “I don’t owe you a thing. I didn’t even owe you your life. But you don’t fear death do you?” Stiles eyes fluttered as he felt his body struggle to inhale. Why couldn’t he just will himself to pass out? Peter growled menacingly. “You asked me to take you instead of your father and did I not do just that? We made a deal and you act like I owe you more. Just like the rest of you filthy humans. You think your presence on this Earth warrants you controlling every aspect of it.”

Peter snarled, his eyes narrowing on Stiles. 

“Pathetic.” Peter finished, his ever-familiar grin faded and replaced by an even more frightening scowl, releasing Stiles by throwing him to the ground at his face. Hatred, harder than any he’d ever felt before, boiled deep inside Stiles veins, evident in the hard glare he watched Peter with. Sudden images of himself stabbing Peter over and over flashed before his eyes, blood pooling over his hands.

Usually in times of heightened emotion, Stiles recalled his mothers voice or her soft touch to calm himself down. But in this moment, he could barely see her. All he could see was himself covered in Peter’s blood, laughing. This is what they were making him. He was becoming an animal.. like them.

\--

After a while of intense starring, Peter dragged Stiles up by his collar out of the room and into a large hallway, mumbling something about ‘having to babysit this one.’ Stiles rolled his eyes, but otherwise kept quiet.

What had Peter meant with that remark about humans needing to control everything? It was werewolves who had forcibly taken over the human race. Werewolves who had forced humans into leaving their homes and collecting into fenced in areas like cattle. Was Peter confused?! As far as Stiles was concerned, it was the opposite. Humans were doing just fine before the wolves took over.

Stiles stole a quick glance up at the man walking ahead of him and tried to remember the first time he’d heard the name “Peter Hale.” Stiles was still young then. The war between man and werewolf had been raging for a couple months at that point. His dad had done the best he could to shield Stiles from hearing about these horrors occurring only states away, but, with a wife on the precipice of death, he could only do so much.

Hundreds died. Then thousands. And Stiles could remember being huddled up with Scott in Mrs. McCall’s bedroom when Chicago fell. She had wrapped her arms protectively around the boys, pressing her lips to Scott’s head in fear of the years of come. Stiles barely understood what any of it all meant at the time.

It would only be months before the wolves reached Colorado. Stiles was sitting in his mothers hospital room when he’d first heard the name whispered between gossiping nurses. Peter Hale. It had meant nothing to him then, but eventually Peter would lead the wolves to attack Colorado. He would demand they destroyed everything: the schools, the homes, the hospitals. 

It would also be the last time Stiles would see his mother alive.

Stiles clenched his teeth, slowly coming back to the reality of his situation. Peter led the two of them farther down the hallway until turning toward a large wooden door. He pushed it open without seemingly any effort to reveal a large, fire lit dining room. A wooden dining table sat near the middle of the room, large windows lining the opposite wall. Closer to them was a fireplace surrounded by a couple of material chairs.

It was almost a picture opposite of Stiles dining area back home. During his time in Beacon Hills he’d frequently wondered what it would be like to come home to a large mansion, to sit in front of a fireplace, and dine on expensive meals. Now that he was getting the chance however.. he found himself missing his dirt floors.

What a cruel thing irony could be.

Peter paused momentarily, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for something. Stiles awkwardly wrung his hands behind the alpha, concentrating on keeping his breathing even.

“Stay here.” Peter suddenly growled, stomping off toward a small wooden door at the other end of the room and eventually disappearing behind it. Stiles watched him leave, not exactly sad to see him go. Though, at the same time, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder what could be behind the door that he wasn’t allowed to see?

Stiles clicked his tongue a few times, glancing over his shoulder. No one would notice if he just moved a bit closer.. No harm done, right? Peter wouldn’t even notice! Stiles would just take a few casual steps…

Stiles nearly tripped over himself running toward the door, only pausing once he got there to animatedly press his ear up against the door. Immediately the soft, muffled sound of padding feet, clanging dishes, and machinery wadded through the wood. It sounded like some kind of kitchen. What did a mansion full of werewolves even need a kitchen for? Didn’t they just eat raw meat or suck blood or something? 

Wait.. That’s vampires.

Stiles train of thought was suddenly cut off by the sound of shattering glass and he pressed his ear a bit harder against the wood.

“LYDIA!” Peter bellowed from somewhere inside, his voice completely void of any of his typical dark humor. Immediately, the kitchen silenced and for a few moments, nothing happened until the shrill sound of crashing glass again echoed through the doorway. This time, it sounded intentional.

Peter howled the unfamiliar name a second time before an irritated, female voice cut him off with a quick, “Yes, yes, what is it?”

Stiles heard Peter chuckle amusedly (though he couldn’t imagine what could be so amusing) before the kitchen sprang back into action, muffling whatever the two said next to each other. Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated.

“… That’s what you’d said.” Stiles heard Peter growl.

“Be patient.” The female voice shot back, clearly annoyed with the alpha. “They must have known you’d send people.” 

“If you’d done your job correctly, they would have had no way of knowing.”

“Decidedly ignoring that. What’s bugging me is that he’d choose to leave his own son behind? Seems… cold. Even for them.” 

A dark chill trailed down Stiles spine. Were Peter and this mysterious woman talking about his dad? None of this was making any sense. What did they mean by “they”? Who knew they were coming? And coming to what? Were they referring to the night Stiles was captured?

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, inhaling shakily. He still hadn’t gotten any information out of Peter as to why the wolves had been originally looking for his dad. And if he was piecing this together correctly, this meant that his dad had known the wolves were looking for him?

It also meant that his dad hadn’t warned him. 

That his dad had left him, so to speak, to the wolves.

Stiles barely had time to register that the voices had ceased before the wooden door pulled open, causing him to fall forward into the kitchen and onto his face. Should have seen that one coming.

A pair of familiar work boots paused directly in front of Stiles face, which he chose to concentrate on. Boots can’t glare or threaten like the alpha he knew was wearing them could.

Instead, however, Peter just gripped the bridge of his nose between two fingers and sighed. Stiles felt his stomach lurch. Of course, the natural order of things said that Peter would never see Stiles as a threat, with his narrow, bony figure and bruised face. But, thanks to Stiles lack of elasticity, he was not only taken out of the threat category but moved to full fledged annoyance. 

“Take care of… this.” Peter breathed out to the woman behind him, stepping over Stiles sprawled out limbs. Stiles finally worked up the courage to meet the eyes of the beautiful, fair faced woman before him that he had the pleasure of embarrassing himself before. Assumedly, this could be the Lydia Peter was screaming for before.

Lydia narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that eerily mimicked Peter. Although, when she did it, Stiles found it a lot more adorable and much less horrifying. She had large full lips and her round face was shaped by long, ringlets of strawberry blonde hair 

“Wait!” Stiles suddenly gasped out, scrambling to his feet with all the grace of a new born deer, twisting on his heels to face the retreating alpha. “Hey! I don’t know if this whole ‘threatening, mysterious, I could kill you and not care’ werewolf persona works on all the people you take captive but not on me, buddy. Jesus, I’m not a piece of furniture. Freakin’.. heel.. come.. rollover?! Do you have some magical call word or something?”

Stiles stubbornly huffed out a final breathe of air, only tearing his eyes away from the alphas back for a moment to realize that the girl, Lydia, was now leaning in the doorway looking very amused. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud. At the very least, he got her attention. Now, if he lived through Peter’s reaction, maybe she could give him some answers.

Peter halted and simply stood there with his back to Stiles for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the alpha smirked, straightened his jacket, and slowly turned on his heels. Eyebrows raised and that cocky grin dawning his features, Peter lazily beckoned Stiles toward him with two fingers.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, overly conscious of the strawberry blonde female’s gaze and how it was intently focused on him, the enjoyment in her eyes now replaced with pained sympathy.

Stiles bit his lip and took a few tentative steps forward. Peter was fairly close to Stiles in height, yet something in Peter’s gaze made him seem at least ten feet tall. 

“Give me your left hand.” Peter demanded. Stiles slowly obliged, swallowing nervously. He’d never seen a werewolf convert anyone before but he was pretty certain it could be done with a bite to the wrist. Was Peter going to change him? 

Peter grasped Stiles’ wrist in a bone-crushing grip and eyed the pale skin stretching over each finger curiously. Stiles skin crawled uncomfortably.

“Let this be a lesson in your human frailty.” 

With his other hand, Peter reached up and took Stiles pinky between two fingers. Stiles barely had time to register what was happening before the alpha quickly snapped it back, the bone breaking easily. 

Stiles knees gave way, a surprised shriek escaping past his lips as black spots blurred his vision. Pain flooded his entire body.

“I don’t need your adoration, Mr. Stilinski. I don’t even need your respect.” Peter continued, keeping a firm grip on Stiles wrist. Just as quickly as the first time, Peter reached up and pulled back Stiles ring finger, breaking that one as well. This time, Stiles merely groaned, his lips quivering. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lydia frown.

“But pain, like so-“ Peter continued, proceeding to break Stiles middle finger. “or, at least, fear of pain will be your motivator for obedience. Think about how this feels. Burn it into your memory. Because you humans are all the same, this-“ Peter moved to Stiles pointer finger, twisting it backwards with a final snap. “will be your eventual downfall. You will obey me.”

Stiles vision blurred with tears and black dots as the pain rolled down his fingers and into the rest of his body, his legs crumpling. Peter finally released Stiles wrist and allowed him to fall the rest of the way to the ground, cradling his hand to his chest and whimpering.

“It’s that simple.” Peter concluded, but he wasn’t looking at Stiles anymore. He was watching Lydia intently, his eyes a deep, blood red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of Derek! I promise he'll be in the next chapter! I hope you guys are enjoying this so far! Thank you for all the support I've been receiving! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at thecolourashley or on twitter @_ssmashley_


	5. Medication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep! It's been a really long time since I've updated! I'm going to try really hard to not wait so long between chapters anymore. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It definitely begins to answer some questions and we finally meet Derek and his godly abs! *cue the fireworks*

There’s something to be said about pain so bad it could make a man wish he were dead.

The worst kind of pain, though awful as it is, was not the breaking of bone, snapping audibly in an otherwise silent and unfamiliar room. It was not the repeated action, each finger going one after the other, nor was it the throbbing thereafter pain that flooded the entire arm and tightened the chest. No.

The worst kind of pain, Stiles Stilinski would come to realize, is looking up into the eyes of Peter Hale and realizing that beyond blood red irises lay nothing but the pure black of hatred. 

Pain was the over whelming sense of nausea that over came Stiles as he realized that the nightmares that had once awoken him in the middle of the night were now true. He was at the mercy of a werewolf so hardened by life that he hadn’t even the slightest bit of sympathy or humanity left in his veins. 

Hugging his throbbing hand to his chest, Stiles gulped in gasps of air and contemplated what could possibly make a man so merciless. What had Peter seen in his lifetime that he could so easily hurt another without even a flinch of regret? A wave of pain surged through Stiles body and he cringed, wondering what it might take to make him that way. Was it possible to push just anyone to such conditions? 

 

Stiles glanced over as Lydia shifted in the doorway adjacent to them. His vision blurred by traitorous tears, Stiles did what he could to seem manly from his very unintimidating position, crippled on the floor. Lydia’s fingers twitched at her side, glancing between the alpha and the boy with furious speed, as if debating whether to intervene or not. Her eyes wild with a sort of familiarity. 

Peter cleared his throat in a way that sounded horrifyingly conversational. Were all blood thirsty, sociopathic werewolves this casual about their shortcomings or was Peter just a special exception? 

“Interesting species, humans.” Peter rolled, mockingly interested. “I oblige to your every wish and yet your ignorance creates this inane belief that you deserve more.” 

“You’ve done nothing for me.” Stiles breathed out and Peter had the audacity to look offended.

“Nothing?” He repeated back. “Let’s talk about our combating levels of hospitality and appreciation, sha’ll we? I allow you to live in my home with a roof and food out of the goodness of my heart and yet you continue to challenge me with manners that are none too suitable for a house guest. Is obedience really all that much to ask for?”

“House guest, my ass.” Stiles shot back, mocking the distinct drawl in Peter’s voice. “I’m a prisoner here. You took me from-“

“From what? Living in the dirt? Days lost in obligatory surrender?” Peter asked, advancing toward Stiles with a predatory stare. “Is that really what you want?”

Stiles mouth fell open, the question startling him. Because, really, no. He didn’t want that. But was this really any better? He was beginning to wonder if there really was such a thing as freedom or if, as a human, there were just different sorts of enslavement. 

“I’ve saved you.” Peter concluded, feeding on Stiles silence.

“You’ve killed me.”

Peter paused briefly with a glint in his eye, casting his gaze momentarily over to Lydia who noticeably stiffened with a sharp intake of breath. Oddly enough, she almost seemed intrigued. Which, Stiles noticed, seemed an odd response to the situation.

“Well, maybe you’ll find this place… reviving.” Peter answered, in that awfully vague way of his. 

Stiles attempted to scramble to his feet to find himself weighed down by the heavy throbbing in his hand, a small traitorous sob escaping past his lips. And just like that, the alpha graced them with one last cocky grin and was gone, having disappeared outside the dining room doors and off to, no doubt, torture some other innocent souls. Lydia watched him go, starring at the swaying wooden door still moments after Peter had disappeared.

“Asshole...” Stiles mumbled through clenched teeth, investigating the damage on each of his throbbing fingers. Lydia only tore her gaze away from the door for a moment to shrug in Stiles’ general direction before shouldering her way back toward the kitchen.

Stiles nearly fell backwards, releasing a string of nonsensical sounds. Was this girl really just going to leave him here?! 

Lydia turned lazily on her heels, raising her eyebrows as if she had no idea what he could possibly want from her. Honestly, the math seemed pretty simple.

“Uh..” Stiles stuttered, finally settling on just raising his hand into the air. “Ouch?”

Lydia released an irritated groan but nonetheless twisted back around, her hair whipping around with her. Stiles just couldn’t piece it all together. This girl was obviously human but she sported no bruises or injuries. In fact, she looked healthier than anyone he’d seen in years, her face full and her cheeks a soft cherry red. Unlike himself, sickly skinny and pale, he couldn’t help but wonder what game Peter was truly playing at keeping them all here. Is this what he had meant by “saving” Stiles? But how could anyone even pretend to be satisfied living in the company of a werewolf?

“I’m not your care taker, you know.” She shot, but nonetheless looped an arm around Stiles and helped him to his feet. 

“Okay.” Stiles answered through a slight groan, finding his footing and holding his arm in a makeshift sling. “So what are you then?”

“Lydia.” She said shortly, between spinning around once again and leading Stiles back toward the doorway to the kitchen.

“Lydia.” Stiles repeated, trying the word out on his tongue. It felt strange, making his lips curl like that of sugar coated, but otherwise sour candies. “Okay, so what do you do here, Lydia?”

Lydia didn’t even take a moment to breath, knocking open the swinging kitchen door with her hip and leading Stiles inside. “Would you like me to write you a formal resume?” 

Stiles eyebrows knit together at the comment, however any sarcastic response bubbling inside him was cut off by the shock of the interior of the kitchen. Unlike the quiet dining room from which they had just come, the kitchen was its own city. Counter tops were crowded with foods, cabinets over flowing with pans and other cooking instruments. Around them, what appeared to be computer screens flashed with orders. Most amazingly, there were at least a dozen other humans surrounding them, all running about their activities in stained green aprons.

Stiles suddenly found himself curious as to how many humans were here and how they came to be here. Was it all pure coincidence or did Peter have bigger plans than that?

Stiles suddenly felt his body roughly press up against something and he realized Lydia had stopped walking. She threw him an irritated glance before rifling through one of the stocked cabinets over their heads.

“Sit.” She demanded, nodding toward a long counter top with a few dented bar stools pulled up to it. Biting his lip, Stiles did what he was told, finding himself unable to focus on any one thing. His hand throbbed, his head spun, and around him were multiple glances that he realized were none too friendly. What could he have possibly done to already insult these people? Were they not prisoners just as much as he…?

After a moment, Lydia returned with a small orange bottle from which she shook a few nauseatingly large pills. Stiles must have scrunched his face up in disgust because Lydia promptly rolled her eyes and filled up a cup with water from a near by sink before dropping them both onto the counter top in front of Stiles. He considered arguing, as he typically does in most situations, but another wave of pain quickly had him throwing first one pill and then the other toward the back of his throat and swallowing. 

“Shit.” Stiles gasped, scrunching his eyes shut. Of course, it had been years since he’d taken any kind of medicine, since the wolves had banned any sort of man made pain killers in Beacon Hills, but he was pretty sure you weren’t suppose to be able to feel the pills in your throat even after swallowing them. 

“Jesus, what the fuck were those?!” He exclaimed, fully conscious of the pills slowly sliding down his throat and making his way toward his stomach. They felt of fire, tracing down his insides and he cringed. “I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure pain killers are suppose to kill the pain, not just distract you with something worse.” He gasped out.

“Your body just isn’t used to them yet.” Lydia responded casually, wrapping her fingers around Stiles glass and moving toward an empty sink.

“Wha-“ Stiles tried but found his throat was beginning to close up. His eyes flared, horrified. Was this how he was going to go?! And to think he’d walked into it so easily!

“They’re still technically prototypes.” Lydia added, casually running the cup under a faucet as if Stiles wasn’t on the precipice of death behind her. “You’re going to experience a few side effects but nothing too drastic. Even the earliest human test subjects didn’t die or anything. Just some burning, possibly some hallucination. But ultimately, you should already notice a lessening in the pain in your hand.”

Stiles clenched his jaw together, his eyes fluttering shut in rage. Was nothing done here ethically? Human test subjects?! What was this place, if not just one giant torture chamber? Stiles slowly allowed his eyes to reopen, glaring openly at the strawberry blonde who was now leaning casually against the counter with the glass cup between her fingers.

“What.. the hell.. did you just give me.” Stiles demanded slowly, his stomach twisting painfully.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She spat, rolling her eyes. Yet, still her fingers clenched a bit harder against the glass and still her eyes narrowed worriedly.

A surge of fire exploded behind Stiles eyes and he suddenly found himself hopping to his feet, his eyes set in a venomous glare. In two determined steps, he stood in front of the female, grasping each of her wrists viciously, and breathing heavily through the fire permeating his throat. The glass, which Lydia had previously been clenching her fingers around, dropped to the floor with a loud shatter. The entire kitchen paused, glistening shards of glass pooling around Stiles and Lydia’s feet. Despite her authoritative appearance, Lydia was actually quite shorter than Stiles and now looked up into his face with the slightest shade of fear.

“Wait..” She gulped, her body stiffening with the reflex to not appear frightened. “Look.” 

Stiles eyebrows knit together in confusion, the burning slightly waning, before slowly glancing down at what he was doing. Peter’s voice from earlier echoed in his mind. No matter how strong Stiles thought he was, what could pain actually persuade him to do?

“Uh..” Stiles stammered, quickly releasing his grip in Lydia’s wrists where he realized he’d left red, finger shaped marks. His eyes flared wide in horror. “I’m so sorry.. I don’t.. I just..” 

“No, not that.” Lydia shook her head quickly, waving off the apology, then pointed toward Stiles hand. His fingers, which were only moments before throbbing and bent, were now strong as they’d ever been.

“What the…” Stiles slowly lifted his left hand and flexed his fingers, surveying them closely. “Lydia… What the hell did you give me?”

\----

About an hour later and Stiles hands still shook from the shock of it all. After the whole debacle, Lydia had licked her lips nervously before slowly placing a comforting hand on Stiles shoulder. Together, they’d carefully stepped over the broken glass and left the kitchen that was now full of disdainful glares. 

Without a word, she led him through a couple of rooms, down a long hallway, and eventually into a large room with walls of glass that peered into the land behind the mansion, where she sat him upon a couch before sitting herself across from him. The land behind them was breath taking, with a glorious river roaring past and the greenest of hills crisscrossing for miles.

Yet, Stiles saw none of it as his ravenous mind occupied every part of his senses. A little bit of pain and he’d almost attacked Lydia. An innocent girl he barely knew and he had wanted to hurt her. Was he turning into a monster like Peter? No. NO. He’d rather die than ever be like Peter.

After Stiles features had decidedly calmed, Lydia finally began to speak. Her sarcasm from before faded into a solicitous, soft tone, which Stiles found himself oddly comforted by. She slowly explained that the medicine she had given to Stiles was an experimental drug Peter himself had concocted. Having been locked away in Beacon Hills for so many years, Stiles hadn’t realized that the world had continued to turn and, with it, consumerism engulfed its werewolf inhabitants. Peter, as it were, had been testing experimental drugs and selling them to other werewolves to use on their “human workers”, as Lydia called them.

“Slaves.” Stiles roughly cut in, his eyes wet with frustration. She quickly opened her mouth to object but found herself unable to. A moment passed before she continued.

“From the werewolf perspective, humans heal inconveniently slow. If they grow ill or are hurt, they tended to be bed ridden for days at a time, which was incredibly bad for most werewolves business. Yet, the problem was that they didn’t want to turn their humans to give them full powers. Enough humans turned could easily mean rebellion. This is where Peter came in. Long, even before the war, Peter had been concocting medicines that might give humans the power of supernatural healing while keeping their strength, length of life, and everything else the same. At first, it was something Peter kept mostly to himself. I’ve heard he once used it on a human he quite adored to keep her alive.. But, of course, those are only rumors.”

“More like myth, to assume someone like Peter Hale could ever feel love.” Stiles grumbled, twisting his arms stubbornly across his chest. Lydia’s eyes fell in a way Stiles couldn’t place. She seemed suddenly.. sad? Though he couldn’t figure why. Was it something he’d said?

“Um.. Anyway, after the war Peter went public with his findings and began to sell them. It was a huge breakthrough in the werewolf community. Especially for wolves whose human workers specialized in physical labor. With the help of Peter’s pills, they could work much longer hours and accomplish much more labor.”

Stiles licked his lips apprehensively. “And this is what you gave me? A pill to make me a more effective slave?”

“What I gave you is Peter’s latest test. It’s much stronger than anything he’s ever released before. Supposedly, if it works, it would make a human near invincible…” 

“So what? Should I be thanking you?”

“You just.. you were in a lot of pain.” Lydia answered, tripping over her words in a completely foreign way to her. Stiles immediately felt his chest tighten. Maybe she really was just trying to help.. Not to mention, if Stiles really was here to stay, he probably would have ended up taking the pill anyway without his consent. 

“Okay, so what now?” Stiles tried, inhaling shakily. Possibly, this was what Peter had meant about saving Stiles. In the wolf’s sick perspective, it made sense. “Let’s say that I stay here. What’s to become of me?”

“Well, you came here by accident so it’s still unclear. As long as I’ve been here, Peter has only ever taken one other person by accident before. Typically, guards from the surrounding camps report back if any humans show noticeable signs of heightened intelligence or skill.. then he brings them here for a designated use.”

“What became of the one other person he took by accident, then?” He asked apprehensively, not quite sure he wanted to hear the answer. However, Lydia did not answer immediately. Instead, she just smiled weakly, her eyes sagging sadly.

The response sparked something inside Stiles and he immediately wondered if the other “accident” had been her. Was that why she was being so nice to him? Did she know what was to become of him because she’d been through it first? He wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not. After all, she was alive. But he was beginning to wonder if “alive” was truly the beneficial side.  
“And… my dad?” Stiles asked slowly, looking up at the female through heavy eyelashes. 

For a long time, Lydia didn’t answer. She wrung her hands together and glanced around the room, blinking away emotions from her eyes. Then, finally, she met Stiles gaze, her face heavy with guilt. 

“I’m not sure..” She started. “Peter.. He’s not one to give up what he wants.”

“But I don’t understand.. Why my dad?”

“It’s… complicated.” 

“No. No, I won’t take that as an answer, Lydia.” Stiles felt his voice growing rough with frustration and instead paused to take a deep breath. “Please.. There has to be someone you care about out there. However far away or however long ago.. I just need to know.” Lydia took a deep breath, nodding her head in understanding. 

“Listen.. I don’t even know all that much about it. Peter only tells me so much. From what I know, your father was playing a very influential part in an illegal organization dedicated to over throwing werewolf rule. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time. These rebellions pop up all over the place. Peter is typically quick to make an example of them before it becomes a threat.”

“No.. He must have the wrong guy. You don’t understand, my dad.. he’s.. allergic to pollen and is like maybe three years away from needing a cane to walk. You couldn’t be involved in something like that.”

“The reality of the situation is that, regardless of being the right man or not, someone pays the price for even a whisper of rebellion.”

“Okay, but Peter has someone now, right? He has me! Isn’t that enough? He’ll leave my dad alone now, right?!”

A heavy silence flooded the room and Stiles realized Lydia was carefully looking anywhere except Stiles eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath settling further back into the couch. This was too much to take in.

A good couple minutes passed in silence and Stiles found his gaze traveling anywhere except for where Lydia now sat fiddling her thumbs guiltily. The room was much larger than he’d realized when they’d first come in and was littered with sweet smelling plants and flowers. It dawned on him that this must be some sort of conservatory. 

Beyond the plants, a glass wall stretched from floor to ceiling providing a full view of the beautiful landscape. A river stretched merely a couple yards from where they currently sat, roaring loudly. He wondered where it stretched to and where it came from. Were they even in California anymore or some distant land? Did the water eventually trickle past any human camps or was it merely for Peter’s benefit to observe and enjoy.

Stiles was suddenly brought out of his mind by the sound of a splash. His eyes swept across the river, finally landing somewhere a bit upstream where a pile of clothes lay on the stream but no body to belong to them.

“Did you..” Stiles began, glancing curiously over at Lydia who herself had been lost in her own thoughts. 

A well toned torso suddenly appeared above the water, droplets falling from a full head of dark hair and over broad, tanned shoulders. In the distance, it was hard to make out any distinct features but it was definite that the creature was a man and the man was completely nude, shaking excess water from his head.

“Didn’t you say these pills could cause hallucinations? I think I’m hallucinating.” 

Lydia’s lips pursed together confused, following Stiles gaze to the river and man behind her. She immediately rolled her eyes and fell further into her chair.

“You’re not hallucinating. That’s just Derek. Peter’s nephew.”

Stiles felt something tighten in his chest. Something he didn’t like. The man didn’t seem much like any werewolf he’d seen before but, then again, there was quite a distance between them and Stiles had never seen a werewolf naked before…

“And he’s..”

“A moody brute? A sculpted god?” Lydia chuckled slightly. “A werewolf?”

Stiles barely took a moment to glance from Derek’s nude figure, now stretching his arms over his head, over to Lydia. “He’s next in line for alpha and not interested in humans.”

“What?” Stiles exclaimed. “Peter mutilates my hand without batting an eye and you think I’m interested in dating his equally monstrous nephew? Would make family reunions a little awkward, don’t ya think?”

“Maybe.” Lydia answered with a sly smile. “But I’ve seen that look before. Not to mention, you’ve been starring at his cock for about five minutes straight.”

“Jesus Christ, I have not!” Stiles made a point of tearing his gaze from Derek (which was a bit harder than he’d expected) and looked directly at Lydia. “It’s not my fault these damn animals can’t figure out how to clothes themselves like civilized beings.”

Lydia chuckled disbelievingly which only further tightened the knot in Stiles chest.

“Listen, I don’t really care one way or the other, but just be advised.. stay away from Derek Hale. You’ve seen what Peter is capable of and, of course, he’s the alpha.. But Derek is next in line and sometimes that’s even more dangerous for a werewolf. He’s always seeking ways to prove himself worthy of being alpha.. Peter is dangerous but he’s calculative. He doesn’t act without being provoked. Derek… He’s another story. Sometimes I wonder if the fire truly burned out any humanity left in him at all...”

“Wait.. What fire?” Stiles asked slowly and Lydia sighed sadly.

“Why don’t we get you settled for the night.” She finally said, ignoring the question all together. Stiles reluctantly nodded, following Lydia’s lead and standing to leave the room.

Before he left, Stiles glanced one last time over his shoulder back at the river. His throat closed up and his breath caught in his chest as he realized Derek Hale was standing at the edge of the river, starring directly at Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and thank you for the support! It honestly means a whole lot!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at thecolourashley.tumblr.com


	6. Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit lengthy, and I apologize for that. I couldn't seem to find a good stopping point. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Stiles struggled to tear his gaze away, yet something in Derek’s face held his eyes like a physical grasp. His jaw fell slightly open, trying to puzzle together the pieces in front of him. He’d never seen such curiosity dawn a werewolves features before and, as Derek’s brow knit together, Stiles contemplated whether he’d even seen such a look in a human before. A stoic gaze so brutal, yet so appealing, one of which Stiles had never known.

Lydia cleared her throat expectantly and Stiles animatedly shook his head clear, offering her a weak shrug. She rolled her eyes in response before continuing to lead him out of the conservatory. He followed numbly, entirely unsure why this man was having such a strange effect on him. He was a wolf after all; completely and utterly incapable of sympathy or humane thought.

But there was something strange inside Derek’s eyes.. Something not unlike the deep sadness he’d only seen in his own reflection after the passing of his mother. Perhaps that was the familiarity of it. Something about Derek reminded Stiles of himself. Then again, it was merely a passing glance. Nothing more. Chances were, Derek just had water in his eyes from the river and Stiles was reading too far into it.

The two passed back through the household and climbed an exhausting amount of stairs before Lydia finally paused again to face Stiles. She motioned toward a wooden door parallel to them and Stiles felt his eyebrows rise.

“You mean, he’s not keeping me prisoner in some dark, wet dungeon? You can’t tell me a large mansion like this doesn’t have a dungeon.” Stiles mused sarcastically, taking a step toward the door, gingerly wrapping his fingers around the doorknob.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” A disembodied voice commented from behind them. Stiles felt as if the doorknob had burnt him, retrieving his hand quickly and cradling it to his chest. A phantom wave of pain rushed through his fingers and down his arm.

Peter stepped amusedly out of the shadows, digging his hands into the pockets of his suit. What was it with him and his wardrobe of choice anyway? He was already the alpha. Who else did he have to impress?

Peter tilted his head slightly to the side, licking his lips hungrily in Stiles direction. “Well..?” He nodded toward the door and Stiles felt his chest tighten. Was this another trick? What waited inside? A werewolf torture chamber, probably?!

“I uh..” Stiles stammered, his fingers twitching uncomfortably.

“Just open it.” Peter demanded, the amusement melting from his face. Although he hadn’t been here long, Stiles was beginning to find that the only thing scarier than cocky, handsy Peter was malicious, angry Peter.

Taking in a single breath of air, Stiles slowly reached toward the doorknob and twisted it with such theatrical drama that Peter and Lydia simultaneously rolled their eyes.

The door slowly creaked open to reveal… a normal room. An incredibly large and lavish room, but nonetheless.. definitely not a torture chamber of any sort.

Stiles let out a breath of relief, pushing the door open a bit further. Peter pulled his hands from his pockets and step authoritatively forward, nudging Stiles into the room. The alpha placed a single large hand on the wooden frame of the door, his back to Stiles. Lydia took a wary step toward, as if expecting something. Stiles couldn’t imagine why she would stick around any longer than necessary.

“To your room, Lydia. I want you well rested for tomorrow.” Peter said, to which Lydia looked oddly disappointed. Stiles licked his lips uncomfortably, suddenly feeling strangely forgotten as the two of them locked eyes. He couldn’t quite place the emotion leaking from her face, but it varied heavily from the way he looked at Peter. It wasn’t malice but something much more tender, like two lovers in a disagreement.

“As you wish.” Lydia finally responded in a tone dripping with rage, and with a single swish of her hair disappeared down the corridor. Peter watched her go until the clicking of her heels diminished into silence. Only then did he turn to face Stiles.

“Well then. I don’t know about you but I’m about ready to turn in for the night.” Peter said and Stiles eyes narrowed. One second this guy was a raging figure of horror and the next he might as well have been as harmless as Stiles’ dad. It was confusing, to say the least.

“You mean you’re.. uh.. in here.. with me?” Stiles stammered, motioning around him with a wild wave of his arms. Peter didn’t even blink.

“Well, this is my room. Where else would I sleep?”

Stiles face must have been pulled into one of horror because Peter glanced over and genuinely laughed. Because, being the sadistic bastard he was, Stiles pain was always something worth a good chuckle or two.

“You don’t look very happy about this. We’re not going to have any problems like earlier are we?”

Stiles squeezed his fingers into his palm, lowering his eyes to the carpet. He wanted so much to tell the alpha right there to fuck off, to let him go because he wasn’t interested in whatever twisted plans he seemed to have for Stiles. But a distinct stiffness in his fingers caught the act in his throat and instead he just coughed lowly under his breath.

“I didn’t think so.” Peter nearly growled out, turning his attention toward a walk-in closet, which he disappeared inside of. Stiles took the opportunity to finally release the breath he realized he’d been holding in.

“Shit..” He muttered, his breath shaking terribly in his throat. His chest felt tight and his head throbbed but there seemed to be no way he could get out of this without a whole lot of physical pain.. something he didn’t think he could handle anymore of at the moment.

He finally raised his gaze from the floor examining the room before him. He’d barely stepped out of the doorway and was now finally noticing how truly large the room was. The walls stretched up many feet high and moonlight pooled in through a window too high for him to reach, an unreachable beacon of hope. In front of him was a large king size bed with a bedside table and a desk. Everything seemed incredibly normal. In fact, that only thing that caught Stiles off guard was standing ominously in the corner of the room.

A mattress was thrown lazily onto the floor with a couple of blankets tossed in a heap on top of it. Before he could even register whether or not that would be where he would sleep, he noticed the worst part of it all. From one wall protruded the side of a metal cage, surrounding the mattress and leaving little more space than that. Against the other wall was a door that appeared identical to the metal cage, a large, black lock hanging from it.

Walking warily toward the cage, Stiles couldn’t help but meekly wonder if it was meant to keep someone in.. or to keep something out.

“Like it?” Peter asked, suddenly appearing back into the room. How the hell did he walk around so soundlessly? Fucking creep. Stiles glanced back to realize that Peter was no longer in his suit but a t-shirt and pair of sweat pants. It didn’t seem fair that he was still able to look threatening in pajamas.

“No…” Stiles grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest stubbornly.

“That’s too bad.” Peter cooed, slowly approaching Stiles with a hungry look in his eyes. “If you’re that opposed to it, the left side of my bed is vacant.”

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, finding it cotton dry. Peter just seemed to find his panic amusing.

“Some would kill for that offer, you know.” Peter pressed on, stepping toward the trembling teenager. Stiles legs went numb and he inwardly screamed at his limps to move! Get him anywhere but here! Yet, all they could manage was to shake. “Sleeping with the alpha.. I can’t imagine anywhere more secure than that.”

“Secure?” Stiles managed through a shaky breath. “With you? I think that’s what they call an oxymoron.”

“Ah, very clever!” Peter responded mockingly impressed. Peter suddenly grabbed Stiles’ forearm in a harsh grasp. The touch was like ice, sending a shock of electricity down Stiles entire body. His legs nearly gave out. “Although, I think you’ll find there are much worse creatures out there than I, Mr. Stilinski. One day you’ll be glad to have me as an ally. Again, all I ask of you is obedience.”

Typically, Stiles prided himself in always having a quick retort. However, in that moment, having Peter so incredibly close to him, to have their skin touching with no fabric in between, Stiles felt his mind go numb. Because what could he say really? Peter was making the situation incredibly clear. Should Stiles give in to Peter, maybe he’d be as secure and content as Lydia seemed to be. But obedience was something Stiles had always struggled with.

Silence waded thickly into the room as Peter starred deeply into Stiles eyes, inhaling his heavy scent of panic. Stiles was, undoubtedly, an incredibly strong boy, especially for a human. But Peter had seen strong before and he knew how to break strong.

Spirit was as easy to break as bone.

Peter tightened his grip on Stiles forearm, definitely leaving a finger shaped bruise, before shoving him roughly backward. Stiles tripped over his own feet feeling his entire weight falling, but then landed on something oddly soft. Glancing around him, he realized Peter had pushed him inside of the caged in area and he had landed on the makeshift bed. Peter casually gripped the iron bars and pulled close the door, twisting the lock roughly.

Despite being locked in a small cage, Stiles couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved. The bars were at least something between him and the psycho werewolf. When Peter turned away, Stiles sighed and shimmied himself under the heap of blankets, not even bothering to fix them into a suitable bed. He was too tired.. too mentally exhausted to do anything other than curl up and squeeze his eyes shut. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d wake up back home safe and sound with his dad leaning over his bed. ‘You’re awake!’ He imagined his dad exclaiming, falling over the bed in relief. ‘I had the strangest dream..’ Stiles would tell him.

Then, perhaps his dad would cry and Stiles would cry and they would hug and he’d never complain about their home in Beacon Hills again, so long as they weren’t separated. After that, Stiles would cook them dinner and they’d sit in the living room and watch movies in blissful silence. It all sounded so wonderful.. Stiles was so deep into his fantasy that he hadn’t even realized that a few stray tears were running down his cheek.

Instead of any of that, however, a gruff voice from across the room broke through his dream. “Goodnight,” Peter drawled, before clicking the lights off, plunging the two of them in darkness.

\--

It wasn’t long before Stiles found himself fallen in unconsciousness. As uncomfortable as he was to be in the same room as Peter, his entire body had been begging for rest.

Perhaps the only time Stiles found his sleep disturbed during the night was when he was certain he’d heard the door to the room gently crack open. Still only half awake, Stiles barely stirred, unsure whether he was dreaming or not. Soft whispers echoed around the room and the door was again shut. Behind him, Peter’s bed sighed, blankets rustled, and then again the room fell into a deep silence. Stiles fell back asleep almost immediately.

Some time the next day, Stiles find himself blinking into consciousness. Sunlight trickled through the window, planting itself perfectly across Stiles face as if demanding he wake up. Of course, even the sun would be bossing him around. It was as if everything, including the natural world, was against him. What had he ever done to deserve such torment?

Stiles groaned, rolling over onto his back to try and evade the sunlight,. His entire body groaned with him, bones crackling from the lack of movement. Although his entire body ached, he realized that every noticeable wound he’d sported the day before was now entirely healed. Cuts and bruises had faded into his typical pale skin, leaving behind only traces of dried blood. Stiles curiously pulled his hand from beneath the blankets, pulling his fingers into a fist and then releasing them.

Although Lydia had explained the situation the day before, he still found it incredibly difficult to believe. He knew wolves could heal this quickly but how could just a single pill manage to grant him the same power? On the same token, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if this new super power was really beneficial to him. What did this mean Peter could do to him?

At the thought of Peter, Stiles bolted upright in bed, the blankets pooling around his waist. His vision was slightly obstructed by the thick metal bars encaging him, but Peter’s bed was definitely empty. The blankets were made and the pillows were all meticulously placed. Where could he have gone?

Stiles ran a hand across his face, sighing deeply and deciding he didn’t care so long as the alpha wasn’t anywhere near him.

Of course, as if on cue, a door across the room creaked open to reveal a half dressed, dripping Peter. Mouth pulled into his usual amused, cocky grin, Peter sauntered out of what must have been a bathroom, steam following after him like a loyal servant. Much like Derek the day before, Peter’s body was well toned, drawing Stiles eyes down Peter’s entire torso. A small, damp towel balanced on his hips, threatening to fall any moment. Without meaning to, Stiles bit his lip, concentrating on a single droplet of water racing down Peter’s neck, chest, and eventually disappearing underneath his towel..

“You know, it’s incredibly rude to stare.” Peter mocked, running his fingers through his damp hair. Feeling his ears grow red, Stiles quickly averted his gaze to the opposite wall. He thought of seeing Derek the day before. What was with these wolves? Hadn’t they heard of clothes?!

Stiles kept his gaze firmly planted to the wall opposite Peter, biting the inside of his lip so intensely he drew blood. A familiar copper taste flooded his mouth but he refused to look back over at Peter. Even when he noticed Peter’s shadow stretch his arms above his head, pulling tantalizingly at the muscles in his chest and neck, or even when Peter’s shadow removed its towel from his hips and rubbed it roughly through his hair. Nope. Stiles would not look. Not interested. No way, hombre.

A deep chuckle escaped past Peter’s lips and Stiles let himself fall back into the mattress, groaning and draping his arm across his face. Fucking asshole! He was doing this on purpose. Stiles stayed in that position, determined not to accidentally get an eye full of anything Peter related and didn’t even notice when he disappeared inside of his closet. Neither did he notice when Peter reemerged dressed in slacks and a button down shirt, the tips of his hair still dropping onto his collar.

The only thing he did notice was the sound of a lock clicking open and Stiles allowed himself to peek through his arm. Peter casually threw open the metal cage, glancing down only at Stiles long enough to raise an eyebrow before turning back around toward the room.

Stiles slowly sat upright, tossing the blankets off of him and toward the end of the bed. He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before and, undoubtedly, smelt worse than he usually did. Showering sounded like exactly what he needed. But after Peter’s little show, he couldn’t help but worry what he might try and pull if Stiles was the one naked..

As if reading his mind, Peter dropped himself onto his bed and scrunched up his face in disgust. “Is it typical human behavior to wait until your scent is so rancid, it could kill a small animal, or is this another strange act of rebellion?”

“How many more days until it could kill a large animal, particularly sadistic, creepy, and hairy ones? Because that was more what I was going for.” Stiles shot back.

“Not many more.” Peter responded casually, rolling his eyes. Stiles eyes narrowed. How dare he respond as if Stiles didn’t hate him and they were just having a spat between friends.

“Good!” Stiles tried again, a little louder than he’d meant to, realizing he was doing an incredibly good imitation of a stubborn child. Peter paused, his features scrunched up in aggravation.

“I think you’re under the impression that I won’t drag your scrawny ass into that shower myself. Although after how potently you smelt of arousal earlier, maybe that is what you want. I mean, I’d be happy to oblige if that’s what you’re looking for, Mr Stilinski.” Peter tried, raising his damn eyebrows like Stiles might actually consider the proposition.

“Oh.. my god. Please have mercy, I have a very sensitive gag reflex.” Stiles mumbled, stumbling over his own limbs to stand from the mattress and step out of the open cage and toward the bathroom.

“I figured you’d say that. Though, I’ll admit, I pictured the scenario a bit differently.” Stiles face flushed a deep maroon.

“Did you just..?”

“Not entirely different, just a tad. There was definitely a shower in there somewhere.”

Stiles face contorted into a mixture of disgust and horror, his lips pulling back like he might vomit on the spot.

“I.. oh my god.. No! No no no no no. Not if you were the last werewolf on Earth, buddy boy.” Stiles roughly bit out against a gag.

“Oh yes, your hatred for me. That was definitely in there somewhere as well. Adds to the passion, don’t ya think?”

Stiles eyes widened with disbelief. Was he.. joking? Stiles didn’t stick around long enough to find out. Instead, he just turned defiantly on his heels and rushed passed the alpha toward the bathroom, locking the door hurriedly behind him. Pressing his back against the door, Stiles tried to ignore the distinctive sound of laughter from back inside the room.

\--

Stiles had been more than relieved to find that Peter was no longer in the room when he emerged from his shower. He’d spent the majority of it cursing the alpha, confident that Peter could hear him despite a layer of brick and running water, and Stiles didn’t think he could take anymore of Peter Bad-Touch Hale.

Unfortunately, Stiles was really only graced with a few minutes of solidarity before Lydia came skipping through the door, swinging something over her arm. Her face was stretched into an expression of excitement that Stiles was very much unfamiliar with. Back home, times were so uncertain that there was much to be wary of, but not much to look forward to. Faintly, he could remember days in his youth, before the war, when someone might daunt an expression similar to Lydia’s; if a baby was to be born, a wedding, or something of the sort. However, he couldn’t imagine any of that being excitable in this current world.

Without him even needing to ask, Lydia revealed her source of excitement. Apparently, being the keen business man he was, Peter threw a large reveal party any time he prepared to release a new drug into the industry. She spoke excitedly of werewolf guests from all parts of the world, of colorful decorations, entertainment, and other such things Stiles had never laid eyes on before in the measly Beacon Hills.

“Haven’t you been to a party before?” Lydia asked suddenly, planting a stubborn fist on her hip, reading Stiles non-too-eager expression with dismay.

“Not really..” He responded honestly, dropping himself onto the bed.

“It’ll be just what you need to get acclimated.” She insisted. “Only the very best and established attend Peter’s parties. They’re hypnotizing.”

Stiles smiled weakly, not wanting to disappoint Lydia any further with his lack of social experience. She was excited, so why was his stomach twisting into knots?

Hours passed from that moment, but Lydia never seemed to run out of the things to tell Stiles about these parties. She told him of royalty that she’d met, celebrities, people of skill she could never imagine to possess.

“They’ll know you’re human.” She advised, shrugging Stiles into a sleek black suit, to which he had immediately stuck his tongue out at. The sleeves were a tad too short and he pulled at them relentlessly. “But.. it’s different here. No one is looking for trouble unless you cause it.”

Stiles glanced up, having been concentrating heavily on the irritating outfit he now adorned.

“Me? Cause trouble?” He said, rubbing his fingers through his hair. “Lydia, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“I don’t.” She reminded him, swatting his hand away and brushing back the pieces of hair he’d pulled lose. “But I know you have enough pride for an entire nation. Just… don’t forget who you’re mouthing off to, alright?”

Stiles pressing his lips together disapprovingly, but nodded nonetheless. It was a party after all, right? What could go wrong?

After having dressed herself into a fitted black cocktail dress, Lydia looped her arm through Stiles and marched the two of them down the hallway toward the main foyer. Though he wasn’t sure when she’d taken such a liking to him, Stiles had to admit having Lydia so close was reassuring. Staticy voices echoed beyond the large foyer doors which the two approached and Stiles heart flustered in his chest, his stomach twisting nervously. One werewolf had been enough to turn his life into hell. How the hell was he suppose to stay calm surrounded by hundreds of them?

As if reading his mind, Lydia gently entwined her fingers through Stiles, smiling encouragingly. His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat so rapidly he was positive everyone beyond the door could hear him coming. Who was he kidding?! Of course they could hear him coming! They were werewolves after all with their supernatural hearing and their claws and their razor sharp teeth and-

Lydia took a deep breath and pressed her hands firmly against the door, shoving open the door to reveal the most extravagant scene Stiles had ever laid eyes on. Hundreds of people stood before them, all gathered into small groups, their voices mixing into a singular chorus of chatter. Upbeat, jazz sounding music echoed through the hallways, coming from another room out of sight and numerous, glistening glass balls hung from the ceilings.

For a moment, Stiles fear vanished, replaced by awe. The men around him all wore suits, similar to his, and the women wore dresses of varying colors. He’d never seen so many beautiful people together in one place. They laughed, lifting small glasses of questionable liquids to their lipsticked lips.

Then, just as quick and painful as a wave to the face, the fear returned.

Stiles fidgeted with his sleeves, attempting to pull them a bit further over his bare wrists.

“C’mon.” Lydia whispered, her eyes wide with anticipation. She grasped his hand, pulling him behind her as the two zigzagged their way through the heavy crowd of people. Lydia’s red heels clacked excitedly, mimicking the distant drums and resounding in Stiles ears. He glanced from side to side with furious speed, catching short glimpses of fangs and sharpened fingernails. A suddenly realization dawned on Stiles. For him this was the stuff of nightmares. But Lydia’s excitement rose from somewhere else. Was it possible she admired these creatures? Could she possibly want to be one of them? If so, why wouldn’t Peter change her?

“Ah, Lydia!” A familiar voice suddenly exclaimed, only adding to the building anxiety in Stiles chest. Peter stepped out from a crowd of gentlemen, looking himself more dapper than Stiles had ever seen him, his hair slicked back and shoes shined.

“And Mr. Stilinski.” Peter completed, gracefully tossing back the flaps of his suit jacket and pressing his hands into his pockets. Lydia licked her cherry red lips, smiling proudly up at Peter. Peter’s gaze, however, glued itself to Stiles figure. “I had hoped there’d be a decent gentleman under all that filth.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut, wary of the uncountable amount of werewolf eyes currently on him. Lydia squeezed his hand, reminding him that she was right there to stabilize him. He wasn’t sure why, but it helped.

Peter’s eyes flickered down to their hands so quickly Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he saw it happen. However, suddenly after Peter cleared his throat and suggested, “Lydia, won’t you go check the kitchen staff? Make sure they aren’t running low on drinks.”

Lydia opened her mouth as if to protest, but Peter quickly met her eye line with a stormy complexion. She must have taken that as warning enough because, after one last squeeze of Stiles hand, she disappeared into the crowd. Stiles gulped, suddenly incredibly aware of how alone he was.

Peter smiled, running his eyes over Stiles like a predator.  
“Can’t I just..” Stiles started, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Peter cut him off, however, with a rough grasp to the back of his neck. Stiles yelped slightly, his face immediately flooding maroon, as Peter led him into a circle of well dressed (and hungry looking) werewolves. Their eyes all immediately fell onto him, racking up and down his figure. He’d never before felt so on display. Why was Peter putting him through this?

“Gentleman.. my lady.” Peter introduced, tightening his grip on Stiles neck. “Let me introduce my latest guest, Mr. Stilinski. Coming from the reservation of Beacon Hills, he’s still getting acclimated to life here.”

The werewolves all stirred curiously, as if humans were a species to be studied. One specific female werewolf cocked her head to the side, stretching her blood red lips into a grin.

“Tell me, Mr. Stilinski, how are accommodations in the human reservations?” She asked, raising a champagne glass to her lips and taking a sip.

“Uh..” Was all he could muster, hypnotized. Much like Peter, her every movement was with inhuman grace, dancing through the air like a snowflake.

“I heard that in California, they raised the amount of meal tickets allowed each resident. Is that true?” Another werewolf asked, crossing his arms over his chest curiously. “They said two a day was inhumane, but I can’t see how?”

The werewolves bickered between each other, glancing over at Stiles at the tail end of every question. Peter nudged him and Stiles swallowed, glancing between each wolf with wide eyes.

“Well?” One of them encouraged.

“Well.” Stiles repeated back, inhaling deeply. “Well, let’s see.” Stiles looked up at Peter, then ran his eyes over the rest of the werewolves. He couldn’t imagine what they wanted from him. Really, were they just toying with him? Stiles remember Lydia earlier, warning him to remember who he was talking to when he chose to speak up.

Maybe he should keep his mouth closed. At the very least, keep his response short and respectful. That’s how you play the game, after all. You leave a little bit of your dignity behind and you get to sleep soundly at night. Stiles took a deep breathe.

Mimicking Peter’s actions from before in dramatized movements, Stiles threw back his jacket and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Beacon Hills.” Stiles swirled his tongue, meeting Peter’s gaze with defiance. Obedience would be Stiles only ticket to contentment, but Stiles really wasn’t made for contentment, was he? “Best I’ve ever seen, really. Of course, the government is a bit shaky, but that’s to be expected in a newly established town. I mean, we all tried to vote on building a hospital just this last month, then we remembered we’re humans and we don’t get any representation. Ha! Just a slip of the mind, of course. Typical of simple minded creatures like us. Of course, the death toll has been steadily increasing from starvation, lack of medication, inhumane living conditions, I could go on. But hey! Really, who am I to complain if I can stand here in this thousand dollar suit, in a billion dollar mansion, and share a meal that could feed an entire family for weeks with you kind people.”

The circle grew silent, Stiles face frozen in a disdainful smirk. The werewolves passed an incredulous look between each other, unsure how to respond. Stiles winced as Peter tightened his grip on his neck, digging his nails slightly into the skin. Inwardly, Stiles calculated whether or not the comment was worth the torment he was indubitably about to endure.

Then, in a motion barely noticable, the edges of the female wolf's lips curled upward. “Brilliant!” She cooed, motioning with slender, ring adorned fingers in Peter's direction. “He sure is entertaining! Did you teach him that?”

The rest of wolves joined in, cackling as if Stiles comment had been planned. Peter responded with an appreciative smile, playing along.

“You’d better keep that one close!” One of the wolves warned Peter good naturedly. “One that bright might be snatched right under your nose!”

Peter chuckled in response, raising his glass toward the rest, "Even God isn't that lucky." then proceeded to excuse himself from the circle, dragging Stiles along with him. Maybe the rest of the wolves didnt' want to kill him for his insolence but the nails currently digging into Stiles skin assured him that Peter did.

After a couple minutes of dragging, Peter paused in a small clearing, slightly elevated above the rest of the party. None too gently, he tossed Stiles away from him. Peter's fingers twitched as his side and Stiles winced, confident he was about to pay for his actions. However, nothing happened and Stiles realized Peter was instead studying him. Stiles gulped as an expression far worse than any of rage settled onto Peter’s features. He looked pleased, like something sick was growing in his mind. Stiles stomach flipped and suddenly he felt like he might vomit. What was Peter going to do?

“I was going to leave you out of this.” Peter suddenly told him, that sick grin plastered across his lips. “But I think this is exactly what you need to wipe out this rebellious streak of yours.”

“Wha-“ Stiles questioned, eyes growing wide.

“Ladies and Gentleman! If I could request your attention for just a moment.” Peter suddenly called, raising his arms into the air. Stiles shrunk back behind him as hundred of eyes suddenly turned their way. The band silenced themselves and, suddenly, every werewolf in the room was looking at them. “First of all, I am honored that you all took the time to attend this evening. Every single one of your brilliant faces is encouragement and assurance to me. And for that, I thank you!”

The crowd erupted into a few shouts of excitement, quickly settling back into silence. Clearly, Stiles was the only one uninformed as to what was about to happen.

“As you know, for months I’ve had a new project in the works which I’ve kept particularly under wraps. The pathway to this new medicine was, assuredly, dark, twisted, and covered in obstacles determined to trip me up. I lost many human guests over these past months and, there were many times in which I was positive this dream of mine was merely that.. just a dream.”

The crowd grew solemn, as if Peter were some hero sacrificing himself for the greater good of the werewolf society. Stiles drew himself further backward, confident that maybe they'd all be so wrapped up in Peter, they wouldn't even notice him disappear.

"That was, until now."

With a single movement, Peter leaned backwards and took Stiles wrist, dragging him forward in front of everyone. Every single eye found their way to Stiles, who’s jaw dropped in horror. Peter continued to rev up the crowd, their eyes growing wide in hunger. But, Stiles could not hear him. The sound of his own heart beat rung louder than anything, increasing in intensity. It was like a drum, beating to his own destruction. 

Stiles ran his eyes over the crowd, certain this might be his last time he had the privilege to use his eyes. The wolves looked back at him, all with cocky grins, some of them lifting their glasses to Peter in appreciation. All except for one. Stiles eyes came to rest on a single werewolf, leaning against a wall in the corner, his face pulled into a mask of disapproval.

Derek Hale.

Stiles eyebrows knit together, silently pleading with the wolf from across the room. 

“And here we all stand! Able to celebrate today together! This human, he’s able to heal in hardly the time it might take you or I. Every part of him is a whole new brand of human. He is, with very few exceptions, indestructible!”

Stiles's mouth gaped open, struggling to inhale as Peter’s words slowly returned. From across the room, Derek’s eyes widened the slightest amount, his hands balling into fists.

“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.. please allow me to demonstrate.” Peter concluded, draping an arm across Stiles back and leaning him backwards.

Stiles throat closed up and his stomach knotted, finally meeting Peter's eyes. 

“No…” Stiles gasped and Peter smirked, lowering his exposed fangs to Stiles neck.

“Scream for me.” Peter demanded.

And with every eye in the room planted on him and with Derek Hale tightening his balled fists tighter and tighter until his knuckles grew white, Stiles obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are enjoying this so far! Leave me a comment to let me know what you think! Thanks! :)


	7. Glass

Stiles couldn’t hear anything. That was the part that scared him the most.

 

He couldn’t remember entering the hospital observation room, but an odd sense of familiarity settled around him in blankets. Everything was there as he remembered. But how could he remember it if he was already there? Doctors rushed around him in a panic, pressing at strange buttons and pulling at their hair in the way he’d previously thought only TV doctors did.

 

He was positive there was once sound here.. Like watching a familiar movie with the volume turned all the way down. His ears strained for it almost painfully.. Machines beeping, frantic footsteps, screaming.. But there was nothing.

 

He slowly stood from the chair, unsure whether he’d actually made the decision to do so or if he was merely acting some part he didn’t remember being casted.

 

“I can’t hear anything.”

 

The sound of his own voice surprised him, soundly unnatural in the otherwise silent room, and he winced. No one reacted. Of course they didn’t. That wasn’t how this scene went-

 

On cue, Stiles felt trembling legs begin to take him forward, toward the large two-way mirror that took up nearly half the adjacent wall. These kinds of observation rooms had been common during the war. Especially if someone had been bitten. Doctors (and generally all of mankind) feared what the bite could do to someone and, well, Stiles had read enough books to know what happens when a large group of humans feared a common unknown.

 

He knew what was coming next, but he didn’t want it. Inwardly, he protested against his own limbs. He begged them to stop, yet everything continued to rush around in a strange sense of slow motion. Unwillingly, he pressed on,

 

“Mom?”

 

There was no doubt it had been his voice. He’d felt his lips part and the slight strain on his lungs, but nothing else about it belonged to him. The simple word, heavy with fear and a few octaves higher than normal, felt like a physical punch to his chest.

 

“ _Can you hear it?”_

 

Stiles chest tightened. It was the first sound he’d heard other than his own voice and there was something odd about it.. Stiles pressed his lips together, fighting a painful wave of emotions. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to face this. He was just a kid. What the hell was he suppose to-

 

 _“The heart beat. Listen.”_ The disembodied voice continued. Stiles couldn’t place it but, for some reason, it sent chills down his spine.

 

“I can’t hear it.” Stiles squeaked, in a single gasp of breath, and slowly raised his eyes from the floor to the two-way mirror. The scene beyond it brought a gasp of horror to Stiles’ lips.

 

He’d known he’d look up and see his mother, strapped into that awful hospital bed, half covered in that damn thin, scratchy blue blanket. He’d known that her skin would be so pale, she might as well have been translucent and he knew that her wavy, chocolate hair would be sticking to the sweat on her forehead and he knew, above all else, that she wouldn’t be breathing.

 

 _“Listen.”_ The voice urged again and Stiles’ chocked back a sob.

  
He wanted to hear it so badly. He wanted to hear the heart rate machine burst back into life and assure him that she would be fine, just fine. His eyes fluttered closed as a few traitorous tears escaped down his cheek. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

 

“I.. can’t.” He whispered.

 

 _“If you listen close enough.. You can hear his heart beat.”_ The voice explained and Stiles perked up. His? It was the indication he needed to remind him that this voice did not belong here. Not in this moment.

 

_“Listen.”_

 

He didn’t understand. He wanted to so badly but he didn’t. He couldn’t hear anything but the overwhelming beating of his own selfish heart, deep within his eardrums. He willed it to stop. His own heart didn’t deserve to be this strong when his mother’s couldn’t be.

 

He felt the guilt embrace him in that old familiar way. He just wanted to join her on the other side of the glass but he knew he couldn’t.

 

_“Do you hear the heart beat? He’s alive.”_

 

From somewhere deep inside, he knew he wouldn’t be able to break the glass. He knew one of the doctors would run over and pull him away, getting a black eye from Stiles’ swinging elbows. He knew all this, somehow though it hadn’t happened yet, but that didn’t stop his fists from flying up from his sides and pounding suddenly against the mirror. He wanted to break it and climb into the room with his mother. He didn’t care about the doctor’s bullshit excuses anymore. That the disease could be air borne, that she could be rabid, that Stiles could get hurt… This was hurting him anymore than she ever could.

 

A distant shrill sound resonated in his ears and he realized he was screaming, but he didn’t care. He pounded again and again, fervent on breaking the glass. This was it! He’d dreamt of this moment over and again and this time he was going to do it! This time he was going to reach her before it was too-

 

Stiles’ eyes flew open.

 

Reality slowly leaked back to him in circles and Stiles’ blinked a couple times, confused. He tried to shift in position but the wood ground rubbed painfully against his spine and his entire body screamed in agony. Colors and lights temporarily blinded him, harsh in their intensity. He couldn’t remember exactly..

 

“Listen.” The voice said again and he winced, an odd sense of fear settling into his gut. His head lazily rolled to the side and multiple muscles hollered in protest. Peter Hale was squatting beside him, a single hand hovering inches above Stiles’ chest, just barely rising and falling with Stiles’ breathing. He wasn’t looking at Stiles, but somewhere beyond them. He wondered if he was dying. Furthermore, he wondered if he even cared.

 

“He’s alive.” Peter rolled and everything suddenly came back to him, in a single painful crash. Peter, the medicine, then the party.. He remembered Peter leaning him backwards, his eyes flashing a bloody red, then tearing into the flesh on Stiles’ neck. He remembered a scream ringing in his ears, as Peter’s nails pierced into his chest and trailed down to his stomach. He only realized the screaming was his own when the blood came in massive waves and pooled at his feet. He remembered collapsing and the intentional breaking of multiple bones.

 

He remembers the audience cheering, Peter laughing, but not much after that. He must have blacked out.

 

Slowly, the realization that he was still on that same stage as before dawned on him. Laying in a pool of his own blood, Stiles’ body was strewn before Peter, with no distinguishable difference between him and a corpse. The slender fingers of Peter’s hand continued to follow the rise and fall of Stiles chest, like some sort of invisible yoyo.

 

“Listen.” Peter repeated and Stiles wondered if maybe he had deserved this.

 

Gracefully, Peter rose to his feet and motioned something to the audience. Before he knew what was happening, Peter had his arms looped underneath Stiles’ and was dragging him to his knees.

 

His body protested and he tried to scream but he couldn’t draw in the breath. Neither his lungs nor throat could take anymore. He’d never known such physical torment and his body knew not what to do but resist any unnecessary movement. Stiles’ head slung forward and his knees dug into the floor while he concentrated on catching a single breath. Peter straightened behind him, eyeing the audience.

 

Stiles’ breathing came in shallow gasps and he felt a single droplet of blood trickle down his face. He knew that his face was bruised and hair sticking up in all directions and he knew they could all hear his frantic, yet exhausted heart, but he silently taunted them anyways. He was alive. No human would be alive after that.

 

A _human._ Stiles’ eyes darkened. He’d spent his entire life hating these creatures and, without his consent, now Peter was slowly turning him into one of them. He lacked fangs and claws, but he’d gained, not only this inhuman healing power, but their darkness. Hate burned so deep within his chest, he could have sworn it was real fire. He was burning. Blood continued to drip down his face, blurring his vision yet the fire in his chest continued to blaze and Stiles wanted to tear them apart the way they’d done to him. His jaw fell lax and he swore he was either going to die right there or get his revenge and then-

 

Then.. something happened. The pain intensified, like a disembodied force was twisting his insides. His skin was stitching itself together at the wounds and his bones moved on their own accord. He doubled over, groans of pain escaping his throat.

 

Peter didn’t react for a moment, instead just concentrating through slanted eyes on Stiles’ bent figure. He breathed in the potent scent of agony and confusion. It was, to say the least, intoxicating.

 

“Stiles.” The single word resounded through the crowd like ripples and Peter himself seemed nearly shocked at the sound. However, he quickly recovered and added, “Stand.”

 

Barely twenty minutes before, they had all watched Peter tear into Stiles’ chest like he was made of paper. They had watched him reach into his torso and snap Stiles’ ribs with his bare hands.

 

Now, the boy that knelt before them was barely bleeding. His wounds were healing before their very eyes at a supernatural speed nearly mirroring their own abilities. The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves as they waited for the grand finale that Peter was determined to deliver.

 

And Stiles would give it to them. For reasons he couldn’t fully grasp, Stiles began to rise. Slowly, weakly, and definitely not painlessly, but one foot after the other he transitioned from his kneeling state to stand before them. His knees locked and then his spine straightened, his neck cocked and blackened eyes finally met the audience.

 

The wolves all at once burst into an uproar of applause but Stiles did not falter. What else could he really do? Moments before Peter had literally torn him to shreds and now he was not even allowed to die. He felt like a marionette and Peter held the strings, controlling every aspect of him.

 

After that, everything happened very suddenly. The crowd rushed forward, urgently flinging questions in Peter’s direction. They demanded prices, dates, side effects, and many other things but Stiles senses went numb. He suddenly felt incredibly claustrophobic and he realized he needed out of there.

 

He took the moment to slip off the stage and hide amongst the group. Human and bloody, he obviously stood out but not many paid him a second glance. Really, who was he but the test rabbit anyway? All they wanted was Peter.

 

He’d let them have him. If he was lucky, they’d destroy him, he thought trying to ignore the rush of blood to his head as he pushed past the crowd further and further away. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he had to get out of there.

 

Very suddenly and, for no specific reason, Stiles was squeezing himself between two alphas when he remembered his dream. Or, more specifically, his memory. The pounding of his fists against the glass fading into the quickening pace of his own heart beat. He’d kept pounding intent on breaking the glass, positive he’d reach her this time.. But, as always, a doctor had looped his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled the small, frantic boy from the mirror. He couldn’t remember how it sounded, but he knew he’d been screaming.

 

He half jogged through the mansion in a daze, unsure what about the evening disturbed him the most. His muscles ached and his chest tightened around every breath but he continued his escape anyway. He didn’t have a plan, in fact, he could hardly even see where he was going but at some point, he stopped and realized he’d found his way back to the familiar conservatory. Inside, it was silent, almost eerily so. Plants and flowers of all colors sprouted before him, welcoming him into their embrace but, for a moment, he just observed. Beyond them, the glass walls over looked miles of green, hilly terrain, leading to a mysteriously dark forest in the far horizon. The sky was a light shade of pink from a recently set sun. The whole scene was so calm, he wasn’t sure he’d survived the situation at all. Could anything really be this peaceful when men like Peter Hale were alive?

 

Finally, Stiles took a cautious step forward and disappeared inside the maze of greenery. He paused only momentarily to brush his fingers over the silk texture of the flowers. If anything, he just needed the reassurance this was real. Even so, he wasn’t sure he could trust anything anymore. He couldn’t trust Peter, he couldn’t trust Lydia, and he was positive he couldn’t even trust his own mind. Suddenly, he gasped, turning a corner to discover a shadowy figure standing a few feet before him. Stiles’ eyes widened in panic. The figure stood raggedly with bloodied shaggy hair wild atop his head. Stiles slowly raised a hand to his cheek and the figure did the same.

 

Stiles let out a long huff of air, realizing the figure to be his own reflection. It did the same, proceeding to copy Stiles as he took a cautionary step forward toward the glass.

 

The closer he stepped, the tighter his chest felt.

 

He should be dead. He looked dead. The skin around his eyes was positively black and they stood out like phantoms against his otherwise pale face. There was blood everywhere and scratches ran up and down his entire body. Though the larger wounds had healed, he could still see where the skin was raised in the hurried healing. He was no longer human. They’d destroyed that part of him.

 

“I’m an abomination.” He breathed out, the familiar fires of hatred burning up his chest and into his throat.

 

Stiles raised his hands to the glass and pressed them against it, momentarily enjoying the cool sensation against his enflamed skin.

 

_“Mom?”_

Stiles’ let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, reveling in his memory. He hadn’t been there when she’d been bit, but he was there every second following. A war had been raging outside his home and humanity was already a jumbled mess due to a widespread panic but he didn’t care about any of that. What was the end of the world if he could tackle it with his parents? Until he couldn’t and the authorities were at the Stilinski’s doorstep, restraining back his father while they dragged his mother out the door. They told them she had to be quarantined immediately before she bit anyone else. They had to contain the _disease_. Like that was all she was.

 

After that, his dad would disappear for days at a time, determined to “fight.” Stiles just couldn’t figure out which side he was fighting.

 

It was during this time that he’d met Scott and the two of them spent long hours, hiding away in dark corners of the hospital. Frequently, they spoke of times after the war and how, after his mom got better, they would rebuild their homes and maybe even be neighbors. There was nothing like their childhood high hopes to distance the war and their troubles.

 

Stiles suddenly banged his fists against the glass, surprising himself as a low roar of anger dripped out of his throat.

 

She didn’t’ have to die! If the wolves hadn’t attacked the hospital that last night, she wouldn’t have gotten shot. If they weren’t such a power hungry, pathetic excuse for a species, their own human army wouldn’t have come in and mistaken her as a threat. They wouldn’t have barged into the hospital room and they wouldn’t have driven a bullet into her snarling, wolfed out form.

 

They were supposed to heal her!

 

“God.. DAMNIT!” Stiles roared, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his entire body into the glass.

 

He was there that night in the hospital when the wolves arrived. He was there as they tore at the doors and rampaged through the hallways.

 

Stiles doubled over and pulled at his hair, not sure if he was screaming for pain or fear or anger. He just knew he didn’t want to feel anything anymore.

 

Stiles clenched his teeth and punched the glass in front of him.

 

Maybe if he would have stayed, he could have convinced them to cease fire. He could have explained that his mother wasn’t one of them! That she wouldn’t hurt anyone.

 

Stiles roared again, his knees buckled with the weight of his memories and he threw himself into the glass again and then again.

 

But he’d ran away. He’d left her. And she’d died for it.

 

Stiles’ body trembled and his knees nearly gave up. The image of his younger self standing before the two way mirror came clearer than he could handle. His own mind twisted in agony and he could see her laying in that hospital bed among the reality of hills and grass. He roared once more and unleashed himself against the glass.

 

He felt the pain before he realized what he’d done. Glass shimmered down around him, glistening like raindrops before digging into his already bruised flesh. He felt it, but he barely flinched. Fresh blood trickled down his body and he felt the familiar twist of pain as his skin attempted to heal around the scratches.

 

He let out a heavy breath, his tired eyes sagging. He thought the breaking of the glass might help, like some sort of second chance at his retched memory. But it didn’t. Instead, his heart throbbed heavier with the weight of his mistakes and he felt a telltale lump grow in his throat.

 

Stiles stepped forward, glass crunching under his shoes and allow the late summer breeze to blow across his features. The land stretched out before him like a golden pathway, but his muscles were tired and his eyelids were drifting shut.

 

“Come on..” He urged himself, quietly, swallowing back any left over emotions. The bleeding was beginning to cease as the skin stitched itself back together but it pulled tightly as he took another tentative step forward.

  
“Come on.” He repeated and then he was running. The padding of his feet along the grass began to sync with the rough beating of his heart and after a while, he wasn’t sure which was resonating in his ears. Regardless, the deep pounding drove him forward, further and further away from Peter Hale.

 

\--

 

He wasn’t certain how long he’d been running but he ran until his muscles shrieked and his knees gave out, sending his entire body spiraling into the dirt before him. He’d long since lost sight of the Hale mansion and the sky had turned a threatening shade of black, mostly blocked out by large, shadowy trees. A large round moon spotlighted him, bringing forth the realization that he couldn’t escape this.

 

No matter how far he ran, he was still less than human. They’d taken that from him.

 

Stiles dug his fingers into the ground, letting his eyes flutter shut momentarily in an attempt to catch his breath. The world around him was silent and he let the calm wash over him, a soft breeze pushing through his hair. He found himself so relaxed by the stillness of it all that he barely noticed the footsteps approaching him until they were directly behind him.

 

Stiles scrambled to his feet, his legs shaking under the weight of his exhausted body, and ducked behind a nearby tree trunk. No. No no no! He’d rather starve to death out here, alone under the moon, than be taken back to Peter. He pressed one of his hands hard over his mouth, attempting to stifle his frantic breathing as the footsteps approached closer. With the other, he gingerly felt the ground around him searching for any kind of weapon. The only way he’d go back was if they dragged his cold, lifeless-

 

The footsteps stopped then and Stiles froze. Had he been spotted or had his pursuer simply given up? Stiles waited through a long few minutes of heavy silence before gathering the courage to crane his neck around the tree trunk. He fully expected to see an ireful Peter Hale standing before him (possibly still in his tuxedo), half wolfed out and ready to tear Stiles limb from limb. However, as his wide eyes scanned the forest area behind him, from which he was positive he’d heard footsteps crunching through the leaves, there was nothing. Was he going mad? Possibly. Even probably.

 

Stiles sighed deeply into his hands, shifting his body back into its crouched position behind the tree. He’d imagined it. Maybe it had only been his own heart beat! That seemed plausible-

 

Suddenly, a dark face appeared directly beside him and Stiles screamed, tumbling over onto the ground. He flailed slightly, attempting to right himself but faltered when a large sum of weight pressed itself against him, forcing a hand over Stiles mouth to stifle the loud noises of shock he’d been making.

 

“Quiet!” The figure demanded gruffly. The fingers were rough and callused causing red marks where they rubbed against Stiles cheek. “What’s wrong with you? Do you want to be caught?”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, grasping at the hand on his mouth and tearing it from him. Oddly, the figure let him do this and then proceeded to take a few wary steps back. Strange for someone trying to capture him..

 

“No, I _don’t_.” Stiles spat back, wiping the back of his hand across his face and smearing dirt with it. “Q.E.D. why I’m not exactly ecstatic to see you, Derek.”

  
Derek looked only slightly surprised that he already knew who he was, barely cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrows in acknowledgment. Stiles huffed out a frustrated breath and rose to his feet, doing so with as much dramatic effect as he could muster. He couldn’t imagine why Derek wasn’t just dragging his sorry ass back to Peter that instant but, regardless, he was going to make this as difficult a process as possible.

 

“So what now, huh? Big bad alpha to be, you gonna tear me up too? What, was Peter too busy hosting to illicit bodily harm on the innocent? You just going to do his dirty work for him then?!” Stiles demanded in a strangled, raspy voice, even taking a daring step forward toward the werewolf and throwing his hands around for enunciation. But Derek just stood there, starring at the boy like he’d never seen a human before.

 

“Go ahead! Try me!” Stiles taunted. “There is nothing more you can possibly do to me! Nothing! You have already stolen my family, my home, and even my humanity. I have nothing left. You’re too late.”

 

A long heavy silence filled the space between them as Stiles words echoed through the forest. His head was spinning and he felt like he might vomit, yet nothing could have brought him to his knees in that moment. Maybe it wasn’t Peter he was getting to stand up to, but it was the next best thing. Finally, Derek took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowed like a predator. Yet Stiles stood his ground, hands balled into fists and chest heaving.

 

Derek stalked closer and closer until he was standing directly in front of Stiles, who anxiously awaited the pain he knew was coming. Yet, this time, he almost welcomed it. At this point, it was the only thing that reminded him he was at least part human.

 

Derek reached forward pointedly, never once tearing his intense gaze from Stiles’, and grasped Stiles’ wrist. Stiles held his breath, expecting Derek to plunge his fangs deep into the skin there.. Yet, nothing happened. And for a long time, still nothing happened. They just continued to stand there, face to face, spot lighted by the moon in an empty forest as Derek Hale held Stiles wrist in his palm. It was only when his breathing had begun to even that Stiles realized all of his pain was slowly evaporating from his body. Of course, Peter’s pill had already healed any of his noticeable wounds but it failed to heal internal pains like the tightness in his chest from running or the deep bruising of bone and muscle.

 

Eyes wide, Stiles eyes fell to where Derek was holding his wrist and noticed that Derek’s veins were bulging and black, physically pulling the pain from Stiles’ body.

 

Instinctively, Stiles’ ripped his wrist out of Derek’s grasp and hugged it to his chest. His mouth dropped open slightly but it was like Stiles’ had never even learned to speak. Language was suddenly a complete mystery, only superseded by the strange werewolf in front of him.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Derek said slowly, in a low, gruff voice. “I want to help you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me a century and a half to update! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! You have no idea how much the encouragement helps and means to me. I swear, I almost cry at every comment. You all are the best!
> 
> Also, I know it's generally assumed that Stiles' mom passed away from some sort of cancer but I changed it for this. Don't kill me. :3


	8. Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA bet you thought I had abandoned this, didn't you! Well you thought wrong!
> 
> In all seriousness, I apologize for how long it has taken to update. I can't even explain how crazy these past couple months have been for me and I just could never seem to find the time or inspiration. But now I am back! Hopefully I can get back on a regular update routine! I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me and reading this. It means so much to know that my efforts are appreciated.

“So..” Stiles coughed out, stepping over a tree branch and carefully avoiding looking back. “Have you ever been diagnosed sociopathic? Or does that just come naturally with the werewolfyness?”  

Derek responded, as he had to almost every other one of Stiles’ questions that night: with stony silence and loaded glare. Thus had been the basic practice of their long, tedious evening together. The oddest of couples, traveling by moonlight, Stiles still less than trusting of his werewolf counterpart. It was merely hours before that Derek had pounced on him unexpectedly in the woods.

“Well isn’t that very noble.” Stiles had spat out, immediately following Derek’s initial request to help. “I don’t need your help. Nor, do I want it. So just… I don’t know. Go be a martyr somewhere else.”

With that, he’d spun roughly on his heels and turned to leave, certain he’d made his point and silently pleading that the werewolf would simply leave. However, he didn’t make it more than three unsteady steps before craning his neck to see that Derek hadn’t moved. 

“Didn’t you hear me, wolf boy? I said go away! Go fetch Peter for all I care! Aren’t you like his bitch anyway?” Stiles’ nearly screamed, his head going dizzy from the exhilaration.

Derek simply observed the strange boy before him, eyebrows raised inquisitively like he’d never observed anything quite like Stiles before. A moment of silence stretched between the two, filled only with short heavy breathes falling from Stiles’ agape mouth. Derek crossed his arms across his chest, a smirk playing a the edge of his lips.

“I..” Stiles tried, the word tumbling from his mouth as if completely unsure how to tackle the situation he’d somehow found himself in. “I… I’m leaving.” He finished lamely, pushing himself away from the werewolf with fervency not unlike a temperamental child.

About ten steps in, he noticed that Derek’s shadow hadn’t gotten any smaller, nonetheless any further away, and he spun around once more, nearly tripping over himself in the process. “Are you following me?” Stiles demanded.

Again, Derek responded only in eyebrow movements and Stiles scoffed, narrowing his eyes. For a moment, he contemplated attacking the larger man but the idea lasted only until his eyes landed on Derek’s abnormally large biceps evident even under a layer of fabric. They contrasted pathetically against Stiles pale, emaciated arms. These fucking wolves…

“Fine!” Stiles suddenly exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. “Do what you want! But we are NOT talking.” Stiles’ huffed out, digging his hands into his pockets and storming away once more in a random direction. From behind him, he was certain he heard chuckling.

“Nope. Not talking at all. Ever."

 

-       -

 

The two continued on like this for at least three miles, with Stiles grumbling under his breath and Derek reveling in his eerie silence. Only once, in fact, did Derek actually speak past their first encounter and it was very brief.

“You’re going the wrong way.” Derek announced right in the middle of one of Stiles rants about werewolf body odor.

“Excuse me?” Stiles shot and Derek simply nodded. “Well.. Fortunately for me, I cannot be going the wrong way because I’m not actually going a way. In fact, the only way I could be going the wrong way is if I turned around and went back the way we came. Literally any other way is the right way. Any way at all-“

“No.” Derek cut him off simply and gesturing to Stiles’ right. “There’s a clearing this way. We can make a fire there. You need to rest.” 

“So what? You can kill me in my sleep?”

 Derek didn’t respond after that, retreating back into the stony reverence that personified him about 99% of the time. Stiles drew back his lips from his teeth, making about the millionth stubborn face that evening and Derek, as usual, smirked.

Stiles continued on his original pathway after that, only slightly twisting in the direction Derek suggested moments later, as if attempting to be sly. About a half hour later, they emerged into a large clearing. 

Stiles pressed his lips together, refusing to let anything from his mind slip into words, adamant not to let present company aware of the state of awe he’d fallen in. Before them was the most picturesque lake he’d ever set eyes on, with water so still it easily could have been a large mirror, pressed into the ground. The moon above them sparkled off every seam and, had he not known better, it would have been nearly impossible to pin point which were the real stars; the ones in the sky or the ones on the lake.

Stiles’ wasn’t given much chance to deliberate before a thud drew him out of his own mind.

“Alright, calm down there, Thoreau. We’re only staying for a few minutes.”

Derek barely paused in his endeavor, piling pieces of logs and branches together a few yards from the break of the trees. 

“Besides..” Stiles continued, unnerved by the man’s persistence. “We don’t even have matches.. I’m no expert but I’m certain werewolves can’t breath fire.”

Derek continued to ignore him, as seemed to be his default setting, crouching before the branches and arranging them meticulously into a cone like arrangement. Moments later, he dug into the depths of his pocket and retracted a lighter. Here, Derek took only the slightest of moments to glance up at Stiles, his gaze loaded with amusement before returning back to his work.

“We shouldn’t even be making a fire.” Stiles shot, crossing his arms across his chest stubbornly. A soft breeze blew off the surface of the lake, trailing goose bumps across his skin sending a violent chill down his spine. But he wasn’t about to relent. “What if someone, and by someone I namely mean your psychotic uncle, sees the smoke. We’ll both be damned.”

“He won’t come looking for you.” Derek drawled out, his voice as deep and still as the scenery around them. Stiles couldn’t help but hate the way it made his own voice sound scratchy and irritating in comparison. However, currently, his mind was more drawn to the information now revealed to him.

“What? Of course he will. Do I have to remind you who we’re talking about?! I could show you the bruises but apparently being a murderous werewolf ring leader with a particular taste for torture isn’t enough and also has to-“

“He’s trying to give you hope.” Derek continued coolly, as if Stiles hadn’t spoken at all. “Two.. maybe three days since you’re strong, he’ll let you wander on your own, giving you every reason to believe you’ve escaped him. After that.. It takes merely hours before you’re back in that house and you’re wishing you’d embraced death when you had the chance. There’s nothing more lethal than hope.”

Stiles licked his lips, the weight of this new information taking the form of a physical force pressing into his gut. Weak knees brought him to the ground, wide eyes intently watching the newly birthed flames flicker before him. Derek only watched him.

“So he’s.. um..” Stiles tried, not blinking nor even capable of moving his eyes from the fire. “Peter’s done this before.”

“I’ve seen it happen countless times.” Derek admitted, the first ounce of pity leaking into his voice that night. “He’s so interested in humans, Peter is. He takes one in every couple months and observes them. Everything he does, I’ve noticed.. It’s not about control. He doesn’t need to control you. He’s just testing or prodding for intelligence, strength, resilience. Ironically, the only human that’s ever made it alive past his tests ended up in his possession by accident.” 

Something stirred in Stiles memory, pushing its way to the forefront of Stiles mind.

“Lydia..” He breathed out, his eyes crawling through the flames and up Derek’s torso to find his own apprehensive expression. “You mean Lydia.”

After a moment, Derek nodded. Stiles’ stomach flipped, his throat tightening. What horrors awaited him past this? He had barely lived through the past couple days. He knew he wouldn’t be able to survive much more.. Or even worse, what if he _did_ survive Peter’s so called “tests”? Would he end up like Lydia, trailing after his werewolf master like a lustful school girl? What the hell could Peter have done to her to make her that way?

“Why are you here?” Stiles suddenly demanded, the fear in his stomach twisting into a ball of rage. Derek busied himself with tending the fire. “Huh, Derek?! Why did you follow me here?” Stiles pressed, pushing himself to his feet and decidedly ignoring the throbbing of his head. “So you can keep me alive long enough to get back to him? Is that it?”

“That’s not-“ Derek began, appearing more unsettled by that accusation than anything Stiles had said all night.

“Then what? You want me for yourself, maybe? Your own personal human slave?!”

Stiles’ voice crescendoed, screaming at the crouched man before him. Derek sighed, allowing his eyes to flutter shut for only a moment. As the fire flickered across his face, large dark bags became apparent under his eyes and deep rooted scars danced across his cheeks. The wolf dragged his hands across his pants, leaving a trail of black soot, and pulled himself to his feet, standing at a near identical height to Stiles.

“I wanted to give you freedom.”

“Bullshit. You just wanted to offer me a different sort of enslavement. I’m free as long as I do what you want me to do, right? As long as I satisfy you? Is that what this is? Or am I just standing in the crossfire of some wannabe alpha trying to rebel against his uncle?”

A long silence surrounded them and Stiles briefly wondered if Derek was going to hit him, his eyes ablaze with anger. Even briefer, he wondered if he himself would fight back.

Finally, a short and terse “No.” destroyed the quiet.

“No.” Stiles repeated back. “Hm. Somehow I don’t believe that.” A beat. “Have you ever even considered helping a human before?”

Derek glared at him – his eyes now just dark slits across his face.

“To a fault.” He responded.

The fury on Stiles features faded the slightest bit, replaced by his natural curiosity. Eyes intent upon Stiles, Derek slowly pulled back the sleeve on his right arm – revealing bit by bit an entire sleeve of burn marks, stretching up the entirety of his arm. Stiles flinched but otherwise forced himself to look at the black and scorched skin.

“Back, before the war, before all of this, us wolves were content living in peaceful silence. We coexisted with humans and, in fact, even acted as guardians when we could. You know those unexplainable stories about someone surviving a fatal incident without quite knowing how or why? You humans typically sized those up to miracles but, usually, that was us. We wanted to help. We were in your schools, your police stations, your government, without even knowing. And we kept our secret with conviction.”

Stiles took a sharp intake of breath, tearing his gaze from the charred skin of Derek’s arm to look up into his stormy features.

“Good deeds do not come without a steep price.” Derek continued gravely. “Sometimes the only way to save someone is to reveal your true nature; to release the wolf. Her name was Kate and she had been in an accident. A three car pile up, everyone else already dead. I trusted that the relief of living would triumph her fear of seeing a seventeen year old boy lift two cars off of her, then rip the metal off a roof like it were paper. I trusted her with the truth… and she repaid me by burning my entire family alive.”

The blood rushed from Stiles face and he wondered if he might pass out.

“Peter and I escaped on mere chance but it wouldn’t be the first time we’d tip toe through death’s garden. So yes-“ Derek roughly tugged his sleeve back into place. “I have cared and no, I have no form of enslavement planned for you. Perhaps you should consider if cruelty lays not in the genes of werewolves but, instead, was learned and inherited from your own humanity.”

“I-“ Stiles tried but was immediately halted by the closing of his throat. He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry, vomit, or pass out. Instead, he let himself fall back into a seated position, cradling his knees to his chest. After a moment, Derek followed suit, his features now much softer.

“Listen..” Derek sighed out, drawing out all conviction from his voice and instead settling on something near sympathy. “One day I’ll have to set myself square with God for the things I’ve done and I’m certainly not saying I expect anything less than the hell I deserve.. But until that day comes, I want to believe there is some good left in the word. If I can get you back to your father in one piece.. Well maybe my demons will be satisfied knowing at least one family has been reunited.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say, uncertain he was even capable of language anymore. It was much easier assuming Derek to be some savage murderer, mirroring Peter not unlike the reflection of the sky in the lake. Determining a werewolf to be anything other than that was illogical, almost impossible. Derek couldn’t be.. good. He just couldn’t. And yet…

“You should sleep.” Derek suggested smoothly after a few minutes of bare silence, hardly masking the disappointment from Stiles’ lack of response.

“And if you should murder me in the sleep?” Stiles asked shakily, through uneven breathes.

Derek shrugged, the faint ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Then I suppose you’ll be dead and you won’t have to worry about it.”

Stiles scoffed, but, still, fell to the ground and positioned himself on his side, facing away from Derek. Eventually, he let his eyes drift shut and attempted to silence the whirlwind of information now devastating everything he’d ever known inside his mind. There was still the possibility that Derek was lying but he couldn’t imagine such raw emotion coming from anywhere but the truth. Stiles’ knew what loss looked like and he could see it in Derek’s eyes.

Regardless, he wasn’t sure he had much choice than to stick it out for a while longer with the wolf. It didn’t’ seem like Derek was going to leave him alone any time soon so he might as well use the accompaniment to his best advantage.

He imagined Peter, back at the mansion, perhaps sitting in an arm chair, stroking his fingers together and plotting the horrific things he would do to Stiles if he caught him. A deep shudder ran down Stiles body.

He wasn’t sure entirely when, but eventually, to the sound of the fire cackling and the deep, rhythmic breathing from the man behind him, Stiles fell into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this new chapter in the comment section and come chat with me on my tumblr at noscarsforpeace.tumblr.com :)


	9. Flies and Spiders

The pathway of the two unlikely companions was heavily drenched in silence up until this point. Well, of course, with the exception of Stiles’ sighing every few minutes just to remind Derek of his aching calves.

 

The two had been traversing the unknown terrain of the backcountry for what easily may have been hours. Time slept here and otherwise ignored its duty to the Earth. The sun remained stuck in its same ignorant place at the top of the sky, beating down relentlessly on the two travelers. Derek had begun leading the way some time ago and.. actually, Stiles couldn’t remember when Derek had taken the lead. He couldn’t remember where they were or why..

 

The world grew hazy and Stiles’ felt the strength drain from his knees as Derek suddenly paused before him.

 

“Derek..?”

 

The man said nothing and Stiles cradled his arms against his chest, chills settling down his flesh.

  
“Derek? Why’d you stop?”

 

Ahead, Derek stood with his back to Stiles. His neck craned toward the sky. Stiles mimicked the motion. Above them, the sun had all but disappeared. The sky was a thick red with black clouds swirling threateningly in a circular motion. Vociferous thunder clamored in the distance.

 

“Red sky in the morning, travelers take warning.” Derek recited monotonously, not caring to look back at his company. Stiles eyes flickered briefly to Derek, observing the slight rubble growing on his neck, the paleness of his skin. Paler than he ever remembered Derek being..

 

“Maybe we should…” Stiles started but the words dropped from his mouth. Before him, a new body stood in Derek’s place, slightly thicker in skin and adorning a black, leather jacket.

 

“Hello, Stiles..” The figure cooed darkly and a shiver traced its way down Stiles’ spine. His hands began to shake and a giant lump clogged itself in his throat. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t scream. He was trapped.

  
Peter Hale turned gracefully on his heels, a vile smirk stretched across his face. Droplets of blood raced down his chin, illuminating the bright red of his eyes.

 

“Miss me?”

 

Peter parted his lips to reveal two lethal rows of fangs. Frozen in horror, Stiles merely watched as the alpha crouched in preparation, then flung himself forward, aimed directly at the sensitive skin of Stiles’ neck.

 

Stiles’ suddenly shot up. Eyes wide and fervently gasping for air, he fell forward onto his knees and dug his fingers into the dirt. He was dead, he was certain he was dead. His eyes fluttered in panic as his breathing came in shallow bursts. Peter had found him. This was it, after everything he’d been through this-

 

“Stiles?” A soft voice called from somewhere in the distance, but Stiles could barely hear it. Instead, he concentrated on the complicated task of inhaling a sufficient amount of oxygen.

  
“Stiles.” The voice repeated and a body of warmth suddenly appeared by Stiles’ side. “Come on, breathe. Breathe. You’re okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

 

Derek’s hands hovered over Stiles’ crouched frame, reluctant to actually touch him, and continued to coo reassurances. “You’re safe.” He repeated over and over and Stiles finally looked up. Derek’s face was traced with worry and Stiles allowed his gaze to settle there. He focused on Derek’s eyes, the slight bags underneath them and the lines stretching towards his pupils, and he let the words settle in his mind. Slowly, Stiles’ breathing began to even.

  
Stiles’ finally blinked, licking his lips, and glancing up at the werewolf in front of him. For a brief moment, their eyes locked. But then, as if suddenly realizing where he was, Derek retreated, retracting his hand from where it had come to rest on Stiles’ forearm.

 

“Sorry.” Derek tried lamely, averting his eyes.

  
A moment passed as the situation fully settled in.

 

“No.” Stiles finally gulped out, running a still trembling hand through his hair. “No.. It’s fine. Thank you.”

 

Derek nodded, his ears still a slight shade of pink. Stiles glanced up at the man and something not unlike sympathy wrung his stomach. So far, Derek had done nothing but help him and Stiles had responded with disdainful mistrust. He wanted so badly to believe that it was an act; that Derek was a werewolf and, thus, incapable of humanity or any emotions like it. But something in Derek’s demeanor was starting to tear down these ideals, whether Stiles liked or not.

 

“I dreamed he found me.” Stiles’ admitted in a mutter, fidgeting anxiously.

 

Derek let out a long stream of breath and it dawned on Stiles that Derek may know those types of dreams all too well.

 

“I won’t let that happen.” Derek promised, his eyes glossing over darkly. Stiles’ simply nodded, unsure how to respond otherwise. Derek had given him a glimpse into his past the night before but Stiles’ had a feeling deep in his gut that there was something else Derek was keeping from him..

 

For the first time since waking, Stiles finally took a moment to glance around. Only the edges of the rising sun shone through the trees on the far end of the forest, reflecting off the glass surface of the lake. The sky was a soft shade of blue and pink, with not a single cloud to taint the sky. A soft chill embraced them both with the promise of a chilly, autumn day. The horizon was thick with the threat of winter. With that in mind, Stiles rubbed at his bare arm where he’d rolled back the sleeve of his ruined suit, that he’d been wearing since the night of Peter’s party.

 

He’d tried not to dwell too much on that night since leaving but evading the memories was growing more and more difficult. He could still feel the phantom of Peter’s fangs against the skin of his neck, his claws dug deep inside his chest.. The memory was enough to send a jolting shiver through Stiles’ body. Had he acted too rashly when deciding to run away? What if Peter found him? What more horrors awaited him? Maybe he should have just stayed and behaved like the rest of the humans in the household. Lydia had seemed more than content, even happy there. All he would have had to do was give up his self respect and…

  
Stiles’ bowed his head and sucked in a deep breath, attempting to blink away the thought. No. He’d made the right decision. He’d rather die in the woods or even at the merciless hand of Peter than ever end up like Lydia. Peter must have done something far worse than inflicting physical pain on her to make her that way..

 

“Are you hungry?” Derek asked suddenly, pulling Stiles out of his own mind.

 

“Huh?”

 

Derek bowed his head and stepped slightly to the right. Beyond him lay a small, unmoving pile of fur and Stiles’ mouth fell agape.

 

“Derek, is that a rabbit?” He demanded.

 

Derek held his breath.

 

“Oh my god, you expect me to eat a defenseless little bunny?!”

 

Derek just rolled his eyes and grunted in response, circling around the camp while Stiles continued to rant.

 

“What is with you wolves?! Do you just get off on killing things smaller and cuter than you? Good god.. Where is its left ear, you monster?!”

 

Derek crouched forward; rubbing his hands clean in the lake water.

 

“So I’ll take that to mean you’re not eating then?”

  
“No. I’m not eating Peter cotton tail, thank you.” Stiles objected, prancing a few daring steps closer to the werewolf.

 

“Fine.” Derek responded, pulling himself erect to meet Stiles eye line. They were nearly identical in height, though Derek clearly outweighed him in muscle and body mass, and the two stood face-to-face mere inches from each other. Derek’s expression remained even, holding Stiles twitching, irritated features for a few heavy moments.

 

“Well.. Good.” Stiles spat out finally, turning away from the wolf and inhaling shakily. He could have sworn he saw Derek smirk but didn’t care to check.

 

“Good.” Derek repeated and, yes, Stiles was positive he could hear a smirk in that tone. Stiles crossed his arms across his chest with a defiant humpf and decidedly ignored the nervous scrambling of his stomach. He didn’t dare dwell too hard on the prickling of his skin or lump in his throat that apparently now accompanied Derek’s presence.

 

“Can’t you go and.. I don’t know, fetch something a little less adorable for our breakfast?”

 

Derek chuckled, drying his hands on the material of his trousers. “No chance at all.. Unless you’d rather go back and ask Peter to kindly cook you up something nice?”

 

“No thank you.”

 

“Can we go then?” Derek proceeded and Stiles craned his neck slightly, still not turning from his stubborn position away from the wolf.

 

“Go? Go where? Do you have any actual plans for us or are we just going to continue aimlessly wandering the wilderness until someone catches up with us?”

 

“Nobody told me we were aimlessly wandering.” Derek responded cheekily, that damn smirk still heavy in his tone.

 

“What do you mean? Have you been leading me somewhere?”

 

Derek shrugged, flashed an innocent smile in Stiles’ direction, then began to venture away from the lake and back in toward the woods. For a while, Stiles just stood there with his arms crossed and back to the retreating wolf and let him walk away. Derek wouldn’t just leave him anyway... He’d come all the way out here to help him right, so why would he just leave him now… Wait a second.

 

Stiles spun around in a panic to realize that Derek was now at least a full fifty feet ahead and clearly not looking back.

 

“Hey wait!” Stiles shouted, trotting forward. Fucking wolves.

 

\- - -

 

Luckily for the two, the rest of the day was rather warm for fall and allowed for pleasant traveling weather. The sun hardly ever disappeared behind a cloud, which allowed for a well-lit pathway, which Derek took and Stiles followed. Of course, not without bickering around every rock and tree trunk.

 

As they went on, Stiles peered from side to side for something to eat that didn’t remind him of childhood storybook characters, but came up fruitless. Blackberries were still in flower and not a single nut or berry hung from the dying branches of the forest. He nibbles at a few nonthreatening leaves and he drank from a small mountain stream that crossed their path, but otherwise there was nothing.

 

They went on and on and all along the way Stiles relentless questioned the intentions behind the journey. Derek still wouldn’t own up to their final destination but Stiles realized he hadn’t much choice than to trust him. It was either follow Derek’s direction or wander on his own and, most likely, starve. Even if he was leading him into a trap, at least there was an end point.

 

At some point, the rough path disappeared and the bushes and long grass vanished alongside it and they found themselves at the nauseatingly high peek of a cliff, a near 90 degree slope of lose stones. At the bottom of the cliff and beyond, a few more miles of land eventually met the base of a long stretch of mountains, blue and ever reaching into the clouds. Nothing quite like Stiles had ever laid eyes on before.

 

“Why do I have a feeling we’re about to climb down this incredibly dangerous cliff and then head toward the ominous mountains of certain death?” Stiles asked, sucking in a deep breath.

 

“Because we are.” Derek responded nonchalantly, cautiously lowering himself onto the lose rubble and beginning to make his way downward.

  
“Oh well of course. Silly me.” Stiles grumbled but still followed Derek’s lead, placing his feet between large boulders and grabbing at anything that felt steady. Pebbles rolled away at their feet, soon followed by larger chunks of spit stone slithering and sliding down the rock wall.

 

About half way down, the slippery underneath of his shoes sent Stiles nearly all the way down and he desperately flailed to take hold of anything. But nothing came and Stiles felt the cold wind break beneath his body as he tumbled backward. He could see rocks, then sky, then the mountains behind him. He was falling fast toward the unwelcoming ground.

 

Suddenly, he clothes went taut and his fall came to an abrupt end. Derek had managed to barely catch onto the material of his shirt. Stiles sighed, letting his head fall forward in relief. Derek grunted in response, struggling to maintain his grip on the rocks and Stiles.

 

“Just.. grab.. something.” Derek managed and Stiles reached forward until his fingers just barely grazed the edge of the wall. Again, he swung backwards and then forwards until he was able to catch himself against the rocks and right himself.

 

Just as Derek allowed his fingers to relax, a grumbling turned both their heads upwards.

  
“I really, really hope that was your stomach.” Stiles squeaked, but Derek was already flinging himself as quickly as he could down the wall. Stiles followed suit but large lumps of disturbed rocks were already spiraling down around them. Entire boulders bounded down, crashing against each other with dust and loud clamors. Before long, the entire slope seemed to be moving beneath their hands and they were carried downward in a fearful collision of slipping, rattling, and cracking slabs of stone.

 

It was the trees at the bottom that really saved them. Pines that were growing nearly horizontal out of grassy hill below caught their fall. Derek onto a trunk and Stiles onto a slighter branch and they held on for dear life until the rocks finished raining around them. Slowly, the danger subsided and the last of the faint crashes could be heard. With little effort, the two were able to lower themselves from the trees and onto the hill, where they effortlessly slid the rest of the way down.

 

“Anymore brilliant ideas?” Stiles spat, sucking in gasps of panicked air.

 

Derek brushed the dust off his clothes, his chest rising and falling as effortlessly as ever. Had they not just looked death in the face?! What was wrong with this guy?

 

“Yeah, actually.” Derek said, running his eyes around the land before them, as if deciding which pathway to take. Finally, he landed on a pathway to his left. “A few.” And with that, he started off again, leaving Stiles to breathlessly chase after.

 

Not hardly a few hours later, the sun had vanished behind the stretch of mountains and the shadowed deepened around them. Together, they marched (well, Stiles more so limped) along as fast as they were able down the gentle slopes of pine forest and slanting paths leading them directly in the way of the mountains. At times they were bushing through thickets rising right above their heads and Stiles had to keep right on Derek’s heels to keep him in sight; at times they were swaying between tree trunks thicker than the two of them combined; but all the while the forest gloom grew heavier and the silence deeper. There were no winds that evening to bring even a whistle to their ears and eventually, with only a wordless nod of agreement, they settled beside a small stream to rest.

 

Much to Derek’s surprise, in only minutes Stiles had a blaze going for the two of them while Derek stretched out beside a fallen log. Once he’d finished, Stiles plopped down beside the fire and rubbed at his aching feet.

 

For a while, they did just this. Derek found himself a stick and began to drag it diligently through the dirt while Stiles watched, though he could not see what was being created. Eventually, he turned his attention back toward the crackling fire.

 

“You know, it’s kind of funny.. My mom, she used to love this kind of crap. You know, like the great outdoors and what not? She’d like spend all this money on the best camping gear she could find and practice with them in the backyard. She would always talk about us taking some kind of family camping vacation and she like even made us take these ‘little camper’ classes where I learned how to build a fire and stuff in a big gymnasium.. My dad and I are more the indoorsy type though so we never actually did any of this…”

Stiles trailed off momentarily, eyeing the fire. After a moment, he continued, “Now that I’m out here, it’s just funny because all I can think is.. Wow… My dad and I were so right.”

 

Stiles chuckled to himself, finally daring himself to glance over at Derek. The wolf didn’t look up but continued to trail his stick through the dirt.

 

“You know, it’s really hard to have a conversation with only one person.”

 

“You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it.” Derek responded, not even lifting his eyes from the ground.

 

“Wow, okay so wolves: bad conversation partners AND rude. Got it.” Stiles shot back, lowering himself into a more comfortable position.

 

After a long moment, Derek finally shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not afraid of silence like you are.”

 

Stiles’ jaw fell open but he wasn’t given a chance to defend himself before Derek continued, “You know, for a human, you have a very narrow perspective of anyone different than you.”

 

Stiles hardly stopped himself from scoffing. "I'm just well aware that in this world there are flies and there are spiders. And guess which one I am, big boy." Derek didn't respond, instead dropping his head once again with a sigh. Suddenly Stiles dragged himself to his feet.

 

“What the hell are you drawing over here anyway?” Finally able to get a higher perspective, Stiles ran his eyes over the vast lay out of squiggles, lines and x’s. Not a single bit of it made sense.

 

“It’s a map of the mountains.” Derek shrugged. “That’s where we’re headed.”

 

“Got that bit…” Stiles trailed, then pointed toward the x’s. “What are those?”

 

“Places to avoid. I know you don’t want to believe it but there are much worse things out there than just us wolves..”

  
Derek trailed off and, for a moment, Stiles couldn’t help but shake the eerie feeling that Peter had previously said something similar.

 

“We’re going to head South and meet the base of the mountains..” Derek demonstrated, dragging his stick along the pathway he’d created. “Then we can start upward along this way. Somewhere in this patch of forest there’s supposedly a group of human rebels. That’s where I’ll drop you off. It’s the best chance you have at finding your father.”

  
“Human rebels.. Isn’t that what Lydia was-“ Stiles started, but stopped when he was met with a look of intense confusion and worry. “Never mind. It was.. probably nothing.”

 

Derek nodded but otherwise still appeared wretched with concern. Returning to his seat across the fire, Stiles dragged his knees into his chest.

 

“How long should it all take?”

 

“Few days..” Derek mumbled. “If we travel fast.”

 

Stiles considered this. A few more days of just him and Derek. Alone. So far the wolf hadn’t given him much reason not to trust him, but the sooner he could be with other humans the better. And yet, something in his gut twisted at the thought of the two parting ways.  
  
“What will you do?” Stiles found himself asking without really thinking about it.  
  
“Hm?” Derek looked up, confused as if he didn’t understand the question.

 

“Once I’m.. you know, there. What will you do?”

 

Derek considered the question for a while, then simply shrugged. “Let’s focus on the task at hand, alright?”

 

Stiles nodded but the thought still didn’t settle well in his head. Werewolf or not, he knew Peter would not react well to Derek helping him escape so there’d be no returning there. So where would Derek go? Would he even have anywhere to go?

  
Troubled by the question, Stiles eventually snuggled back against the ground and fell into a shallow, nightmare-infested sleep.

 

\- - -

 

There he was again. Peter. Crouched hardly ten feet away and snarling like the animal he was. Stiles couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, just lay paralyzed in fear at the creature before him.

 

“It’s time to come home, Stiles.” Peter growled, before releasing a blood curdling howl.

 

Stiles jolted awake to a nearly dead fire, glowing only from the red embers in the mass of ash. He expected to see Derek asleep beside him, but instead was met to a fully awake and alert wolf.

 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles whispered but Derek didn’t respond, concentrating intently on the forest beyond Stiles head. Suddenly, from behind him, a howl exactly like the one from his dream rang out through the darkness.

 

A long stream of curse words waterfalled from Stiles lips while he scrambled in the darkness to get closer to Derek.

 

“Stiles, listen to me.” Derek demanded, in a voice deeper than Stiles had ever heard. “Behind me, there is a patch of bushes. You run and you hide there until I return. Do not come out for anything. Do you understand?”

 

Stiles didn’t respond, only gasped at another howl, not much closer. Derek suddenly clasped a firm hand under Stiles’ chin.

 

“Stiles, do you understand?! I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”

 

Stiles nodded weakly and instantly, Derek was gone leaving Stiles alone in the darkness. Without a light source, it took Stiles a while to find a sufficient hiding place but eventually he was able to lower himself beneath a thicket of leaves. The forest around him was alive with now two howling creatures, both snarling and barking in indiscernible directions. This continued for many long minutes until one creature finally whimpered out in pain, another howl, a terrible crunching noise, then silence.

 

“Derek?” Stiles whispered into the vastness. He couldn’t hold a hand out in front of him and see it. “Derek?!” he repeated, this time through a choked gasp, inwardly pleading that the whimpering hadn’t been from Derek. Had he injured himself to save Stiles?! No.. No no no no.. He couldn’t get on without Derek!

 

Stiles bolted from the bush, blindly racing through the trees and quickly gathering scrapes and bruises from invisible branches and rocks. He didn’t know where he was going but he knew he had to find Derek. If he was hurt, maybe he could still save him!

 

“Derek-“ Stiles attempted to call out but was cut off as his entire body slammed harshly into the ground. His vision began to swim with white particles and he was positive he must be spinning.. A force around his left ankle began to drag him forward and then entirely up into the air until he was hanging upside down. Blood immediately rushed into his head and he could feel his consciousness fleeting.

 

“Well, well..” A voice suddenly rang out of the forest. Stiles gut twisted but the voice was not of Peter’s. In fact, it was much higher in pitch and much more feminine. “What have I caught in my web this time.. You’re certainty not a rabbit..” The voice continued, footsteps circling the terrain around Stiles. Whatever was holding him up was spinning and he couldn’t concentrate on anything. “Definitely not any kind of deer I’ve ever seen.. Most likely not a mountain cat this far out.”

 

A figure protruded from the dense tree trunks, nearly sparkling in the spare moon light. She was tall with thick curves and blond hair that fell in loose ringlets around her shoulders and down her back. Because he was spinning, Stiles was only able to see the woman in short bursts.

 

“Looks like I’ve caught myself a human.” She sang, then brushed a hand against the bruised skin of Stiles legs and spun him around even faster. A melodic string of laughter fell from her cherry lips, enveloping the entire forest around them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who! Okay, so I'm the actual worst at updating and I'm so so sorry. But I promise that I will finish this story. Eventually. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think in the comment section! As always, your support means more to me than I can even say!


	10. Run

The disorientation was enough to cause Stiles to consider the likelihood that this might actually just be another nightmare. The waking world could never be so cruel as to let him get this far, only to have Derek ripped from him and captured by a another set of teeth and claws.

Stiles’ choked down a sob, his body still suspended midair by his ankle and rotating. A single ray of moonlight shone down brilliantly through the leaves above and glittered around him. His head spun with the amount of blood leaking into it and his vision flooded white. Trees, trees, trees, then a blur of blonde hair. Trees, trees, trees, then a blur of blood red lips.

“What did you do to him?” Stiles managed to gasp out, his body jerking violently like a fish caught on a line. “You fucking monster, did you kill him?!”

Trees, trees, tress, icy blue eyes.

The female purred to herself curiously, ignoring Stiles’ desperate protests.

“It’s interesting… How did a human even get this far out?” The woman cooed. 

Trees, trees, trees fangs white as snow.

“Fuck you.”

Stiles violently swung himself forward, clutching his slender fingers around naught but air. He could have sworn the woman was standing there just a moment before. How did she move with such speed? Even for a wolf (if that indeed was what she was), she was eerily fast. 

The woman giggled, amusedly. Like this was some kind of game. Well, to her.. it probably was.

“Did Peter send you?” Stiles tried, backtracking hard. “Because.. Jesus, fine, you can have me. Do whatever you want to me but don’t hurt him okay? Please.”

Without a sound, the woman began to circle Stiles in the opposite direction he spun, disorienting him even further. Her brow furrowed curiously. 

“Please..” Stiles continued through shallow gaps. His head was growing unbelievably heavy with blood. “He wasn’t even suppose to be here, it’s just.. It’s just..” Stiles choked back a gasp, his tone growing nearly hysterical while the blonde woman circled him. “Come on, just take me, okay and leave him alone! What else do you want me to say?! I’ll do anything! Just don’t kill him, alright? Please?!”

The woman paused, sighing deeply. With a single hand, she grabbed Stiles’ thigh and halted his spinning. He wanted to believe that it was the suddenness of the movement that twisted his gut and nearly made him vomit, but in fact it was the look beneath the woman’s bright blue eyes. She leaned in, her breath hot against his skin, her mouth contorted into a wicked grin.

“Too late.” She sneered.

Stiles began to writhe in his bonding, flipping madly about. 

“No!” He screamed in protest, swinging his fists around him in every direction, ready to draw blood. “I don’t believe you!” 

The woman snickered, opening her mouth to speak, but suddenly disappeared from view. It took Stiles a moment to realize that a large black mass had knocked into her side and dragged her to the ground. He craned his neck painfully, trying to get a proper view.

Pinned to the ground with her hair spread wildly beneath her, the woman licked her ruby lips and snorted up at her attacker. Derek had collected both of her wrists into a single palm and was pressing them into the dirt, one knee pinning the rest of her down while the other kept him steady. His hair was a mess, wild with pine needles and dirt, and a trail of blood leaked down his face. But he was very much alive, and that was all Stiles cared about.

The two wolves watched each other through bright, narrowed eyes and Stiles eagerly awaited the assault he was certain was coming from Derek. Would he kill this woman? Maybe weeks ago the idea would have bothered him but now.. Now, he almost craved the sight of blood.

Instead, the woman broke into a wide grin.

“Someone has been lifting weights, Derek Hale.” The woman chuckled. What? How did she know his name? 

“Sure have.” Derek responded, his voice leaking with familiarity. What the fuck was going on. “And they’re heavier than an 130 pound werewolf, I can tell you that.”

“You say that like I’m not a threat.” She responded in a pout.

“You’re not.” Derek said this with all the intonations of an older brother teasing a younger sibling. In fact, Stiles had never heard him sound so friendly.

Derek gave her wrists one last, bone crushing squeeze before beginning to lift himself from her body. However, immediately, she was on him again with a single arm wrapped around his neck and a knee pushed roughly to his back. In a single blurry moment, she had him on his knees.

“You weren’t the only one working out.” She chuckled before releasing his neck in a single, graceful swoop. She ran a few slender fingers through her long, blonde waves.

Derek dragged himself to his feet and gingerly felt at his wounds, which were already healing at an incredibly rate.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again ever.” She admitted, twisting her hair. “After everything, you know? I just assumed the worst.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, unfortunately.. But it’s certainty a relief to see you alive, Erica.” Derek said, cracking a soft smile.

For a moment, the two shared this. A sympathetic smile, each lost in their memories of perhaps better times or even more likely times in which were so hard they both thought the other to be dead.

However, the moment was quickly broken by the gargled sound of a throat being cleared.

“Well, isn’t that nice.” Stiles spat, feeling his cheeks grow an uncomfortable shade of red from the amount of blood pooling there from the rest of his body. “Don’t even worry about me, I’ll just hang out over here while you two catch up.”

In a single swift movement (and Stiles was certain a cocky grin), Erica reached at her waist and released a hunting knife from its holster. All in a blur, she flung it upward where it sliced coolly through the rope and dug into an opposite tree. From the ground, where he had landed on his head and was groaning in pain and mumbling something about “fucking werewolves”, Stiles was less than impressed. 

“Impressive.” Derek chuckled. What an asshole.

Stiles followed the two back to the camp, rubbing at his bruised scalp, and feeling more or less like a forgotten pet. Derek had introduced the female as Erica Reyes and, after she retrieved her deadly assault weapon, the two couldn’t seem to get enough of each other.

“She’s a really old friend.” Derek had explained with a stupid grin, all the while not taking his eyes from her. A really old friend who had nearly killed them both, Stiles wanted to remind him but hell, apparently to werewolves attempted murder (and assault, mind you, Stiles had bruises!) was just something one could shrug off.

She was shorter than both of them, with razor sharp features. While they walked, he couldn’t help but notice that she hardly stepped on a single twig, nor crunched a single leaf. She was eerily graceful, moreso even than Derek or Peter. However, previously her eyes had been blue, not red, so she couldn’t be an alpha.. Regardless, she nearly danced through the moonlit forest like she knew every tree and plant to an exact degree.

Ahead, Erica laughed full heartedly at something Derek must have said and Stiles cringed. He’d fallen a few feet behind them and trailed along with his eyes narrowed, but neither of them seemed to notice. Apparently nothing could spoil this special reunion. 

“What are you doing all the way out here then?” Derek asked as the three broke into the clearing in which Derek and Stiles had already prepared a camping sight. Stiles decidedly ignored them, instead eyeing the spot he’d previously been sleeping and heading straight for it. Already two steps ahead, Erica plopped down right where he was headed. Not without a heavy sigh and a dirty look, Stiles dragged his feet to the other side of the fire. Derek, once again, leaned himself against the fallen log.

“Hunting.” Erica replied simply. “A few weeks ago, there was a whole bus load brought to the human’s camp and there’s just been less game to share since. I came down this way to see what I could find.”

Derek nodded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Stiles watched him. He hated the way Derek’s eyes lit up with interest and recognition. He hadn’t even heard Derek talk this much since they first set out. Before, Stiles had been content with their struck up companionship, believing that it was just in Derek’s nature to be grumpy and rude. However, seeing him now, playful and talkative around this Erica felt like a brick in his stomach. If Derek really did have this kind of happiness inside him, why hadn’t he ever shown it before? Did he really hate Stiles THAT much? 

“Wait, tell me.” Erica started again, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “Does Peter still have that stupid goatee?” 

“Luckily for us, he discovered shaving cream somewhere along the way. Around the same time he got rid of that disgusting old robe.”

“Jesus, that thing was nasty. I think he actually enjoyed the fact that everyone could see his junk in it.” 

Stiles cringed, unsure how anyone could talk about Peter Hale like he was just an embarrassing family member. As far as he was concerned, Peter had been an evil dictator since the day he crawled out of hell. There couldn’t be a life before this. No one just wakes up one day and becomes maniacal and abusive.. Then again, Stiles thought about what Derek had told him about his past. His entire family burned alive.. That would have been Peter’s family too. Was that enough to drive him off a cliff of madness? 

“Okay but he still has the leather jackets right?”

“Oh yes.” Derek chuckled.

Stiles groaned, pressing the palms of his hands into his ears.

“Okay, can we maybe not talk about the sadistic ass fuck who’s, need I remind you, most likely fantasizing about our murders right this second.”

For the first time since the initial reunion, Derek and Erica both turned their attention toward Stiles. Without his consent, the tips of his ears grew hot and red. Almost immediately, the humor drained from Derek’s face and he slumped down against his log.

Erica opened her mouth as if to argue but Derek stopped her.

“No.” Derek croaked out, unable to meet Stiles’ eyes. “He’s right.. We should get some sleep anyway.”

Stiles nodded, however feeling a little guilty at destroying the joy that had been so clear in Derek’s eyes for only a few minutes. Erica shot Stiles a cold look like she knew it too.

The three were silent after that, each lost in their own pool of thoughts and memories. None of them slept immediately, instead choosing to slump into the most comfortable positions they could manage on the cold ground. For a while, Stiles just watched the fire dance. Before he’d rushed off, Derek had said he’d never let anything hurt him. But what did that mean? Why did he care so much? It seemed beyond the realm of possibility that a wolf could care so much for someone like him. They hardly knew each other! 

Stiles replayed the moment over and over in his mind, nearly embarrassed by his reaction when he thought something had happened to Derek. He’d simply lost it. He’d panicked. But why? None of this was making any sense. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand. Find the human rebellion and, hopefully from there, find his dad. That was it. He couldn’t let anyone get in the way of that. 

Stiles pulled his knees into his chest and nestled his nose against them. Once he got home to Beacon Hills, everything would make sense again. He could forget about all these damn wolves and just live peacefully once again with Scott and his dad. There would be no chaos, no running, no constant crushing fear. And especially no Derek Hale.

\- -

The next morning, Derek was gone. Stiles immediately shot up, breathing in raggedy short gasps of air, the remnants of a Peter related nightmare already fading. Where the hell was Derek? He had fallen asleep to Stiles’ left, slumped against the log and looking incredibly uncomfortable. Stiles only knew this because he shook himself awake through out the night, positive that their latest werewolf addition couldn’t be trusted. Yet, while Erica slept soundly through the night, Stiles spent the majority of it watching the slight rise and fall of Derek’s chest.

He’d eventually collapsed into a shallow sleep maybe an hour prior to sunrise and now Derek was gone. Across the pit of blackened ash, Erica was still curled up into herself, purring slightly. But no Derek.

Stiles pushed himself up, blinking the exhaustion from his eyes, and scanned the surrounding woods. A few yards away, something moved beyond the tree trunks and Stiles slumped back down. After a moment, Stiles realized it was Derek and he was.. well, he was completely naked. Stiles’ face flashed a deep red.

Stiles immediately looked away, squeezing his eyes shut and considering every moment he’d had his own privacy invaded. He shouldn’t look, he really shouldn’t.

But it was curious.. Was was he doing anyway?

Stiles’ eyes cautiously waded from the ground up, until they found their source of interest. Wading in a shallow stream, Derek splashed water in handfuls over his entire body, rubbing it across the skin of his torso. The sun had barely risen and playful streams of sunrise danced across his chest and in the droplets of his hair. Standing at full mass, Derek took a deep breath, his chest muscles expanding and tightening. The outline of his abs becoming more defined. Stiles licked his lips, his mouth falling slightly agape. Derek smiled to himself, shaking his head free of the water as it dripped tantalizingly down his-

“Enjoying the show?” 

Stiles flinched, sending his entire body toppling over and into the leaves. From behind him, Erica giggled.

“W-what?!” Stiles demanded, righting himself upward and praying to God his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, maybe that’s because all the blood from your brain is currently occupied somewhere else.”

“Oh.. my god.” Stiles stammered. “I was just making sure he was okay. I woke up and he wasn’t here.”

“Mhmm.” Erica clicked her tongue, biting at her lip, which was stretching into a wide grin. “

“Oh come on!” Stiles insisted. “Obviously you were looking too, so come off it.” 

“Come off it? Looks to me more like you’d rather cum-” 

“Jesus christ!” Stiles exclaimed, digging the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, groaning in disbelief while Erica giggled in amusement.

Derek returned not five minutes later, fully clothed to Stiles relief, and ready to move on for the day. Without even consulting him, Derek had divulged everything about their trip to Erica. Turns out, her knowledge of the mountains was much greater than anything of Derek’s or Stiles (who couldn’t even place what state/country/planet they were on) but that only proved to irritate Stiles further.

“When I left a few days ago, the humans were staying in a valley beside Lake Mac Tire.” Erica told them, running her fingers through her hair. “Who knows if they’re still there? They move a lot but it’s a worthy place to start.” 

Stiles eye twitched. Why did he have a feeling that against his wishes their duo was about to become a trio.

“Will you lead us there?” Derek asked fondly. “I’ll be sure to pay you back but I don’t know these mountains like you. You could save us hours, even days on time. That’s precious time spent further from Peter.”

Erica had nodded, understandingly, like she’d just taken on the courageous role of leader in their journey. Stiles bit the inside of his lip until he tasted copper. 

The three carried on from there with no mention of Stiles discomfort. Either neither of them cared or noticed, but either way Stiles’ spent the majority of their trip mumbling under his breath and biting at his lips.

Erica was slick, more diligent on her feet than any werewolf he’d ever seen. She moved less with brute force and strength and more with agility and grace. She knew their every location just from the pitch of the wind and would often disappear high into the trees to further map out their route. They were making incredible time. Time which would have been spent wandering in the wrong direction had they not met up with Erica. However, Stiles was far from grateful for her help. 

Derek and he could have figured it out themselves. They’d made it that far, hadn’t they? So why did Erica even have to come with. Didn’t she have somewhere to be that was.. was.. well, not there with them invading their space and occupying all of Derek’s attention?!

The forest hardly cleared when they began to walk at a steady incline and Stiles assumed they must have reached the base of the mountain. The sun was hardly passed the midway of the sky. Alright so admittedly, it was nice to have a wilderness tour guide.. but only because it meant he was closer to being around other humans again. He was growing quickly sick of the way she leapt around the trees like some kind of squirrel, but mostly because of the way Derek watched her with admiration.

“I hate squirrels.” Stiles spat out loud.

As the sun eventually began to disappear into the horizon, an unsettling screeching stopped the trio in their tracks.

“What the hell was that?” Derek asked, his eyes wide in alert and his brow furrowed. 

“An animal.” Erica answered easily, scanning the trees for any movement. “Most likely a red fox. Sounds hurt.. Here, this way.” 

Without a second thought, Derek darted after the blonde with an irritated Stiles in tow. 

“Am I the only one more concerned with our lives than that of a wild animals?” He asked to no one in particular. The answer assumedly being yes when no one responded. However, Erica’s concern not only appeared justified but warranted when the three rounded a corner to see a young fox struggling to balance itself, blood oozing from its brilliant red fur.

“Oh my god..” Stiles breathed. “What happened to it?”

The fox hissed at the new comers, whimpering as its legs gave out and its body crashed into the dirt with a thud.

“Most likely a wolf..” Erica responded, crouching low to the ground and keeping persistent eye contact with the creature. “Or possibly a bear.. Either way, gotta give this little guy some credit. He must be some fighter.” 

The fox continued to hiss while Erica crept slowly closer, cooing gently under her breath. Eventually, she must have done something right because the animal allowed her to cradle it into her lap, resting its wary head on her thigh.

Feeling his mouth grow dry but his mind grow curious, Stiles inched forward toward the two. He only paused when Derek laid a gentle hand across his shoulder. Together, the two stood at a safe distance away while Erica patted the fox, humming under her breath. 

“We should.. we should put it out of its misery.” Stiles whispered, noticeably cringing every time the fox released a high-pitched whine. “It’s obviously been through a lot..”

“Then what would all his fighting have been for?” Derek responded in an uncharacteristically soft whisper. Stiles glanced up at the man, fully taking him in. Derek didn’t return the look, but instead squeezed Stiles’ shoulder only the slightest bit. His touch radiated warmth and Stiles sighed shakily, returning his focus back to the two damaged creatures before him. 

Without him realizing, the fox had begun to whimper significantly less and was nestling its face against the warmth of Erica’s skin. Erica’s entire palm was spread out, tangled inside the fur of the animal while veins of black spider webbed up her arm, retrieving its pain. Her back was arched deeply over the fox, blocking her face from view. Yet, clearly still, thick droplets of water dripped from her hidden face in a waterfall. 

The fox purred in appreciate and Derek let his hand slip from Stiles’ shoulder. 

\- - 

Stranded alone and spotlighted by the full moon, Stiles began to realize that there was nothing he feared worse than the paralysis of fear. His legs would take him in no direction despite his mind screaming for him to flee. He could not move, he couldn’t even scream. His lungs themselves froze solid.

Before him, Peter Hale stalked casually out of the trees. His hair pushed back and his mouth dripping with thick droplets of blood, the alpha pressed forward until he was face to face with the trembling Stiles. 

Run, he continued to scream inwardly! Escape! Do anything!

But his traitorous body would not respond and instead he merely shook like a leaf in a hurricane while Peter circled his prey. From somewhere behind him, Peter paused and pressed a palm to the side of Stiles’ neck. Peter leaned in until he was wrapped around Stiles in a strict embrace.

“You’re mine.” The alpha growled before plunging two lethal fangs into the side of Stiles’ neck.

Immediately, Stiles was awake. Gasping in his usual fashion beside the fire while the nightmare slowly faded from memory. 

“You’re awake, you’re awake..” He whispered to himself, dragging his nails across his skin as a reminder. He couldn’t feel actual pain in his dreams. It always woke him up.

“Yeah you’re awake.” A voice responded from across the fire. With a 50% chance it would be the voice Stiles’ wanted to hear, of course it was Erica still awake and Derek snoring on the ground. 

“And your consistent mumbling is keeping me awake too.” 

Stiles grunted, thrusting his face into his hands and concentrating on calming his trembling muscles. Erica’s features softened considerably, something like guilt flashing across her sharp eyes. 

“So..” She rolled, dragging herself to sit cross legged. “What did he do to you?”

Stiles peered out of his fingers at the blond, wishing she would just shut up. 

“Come on.” She pushed, rolling her eyes deep into the back of her head. “Surely Derek has told you his whole sob story and obviously I’m a mess so.. What happened to you?” 

“Nothing.” Stiles grumbled, allowing himself to fall onto his back and concentrate on the stars above them. It was a clear night, completely void of a moon, but brilliant in the expanse of stars. He wished he could count them all, perhaps just stay in that moment of peace forever.

Instead, Erica leaned forward toward him and nudged, “Fine. Be that way. Maybe in the morning I can share the tale of how you begged for Derek’s life yesterday. I’m sure he’d be very interested to hear-“

Stiles snorted, pouncing to his feet in a flurry of emotion. All humor drained from Erica’s face.

“Give me your knife.” Stiles demanded. Erica considered it briefly, then must have decided Stiles to be nothing of a threat, and reached for her hip. In a single swoop, she tossed the knife upward and Stiles caught it in his grasp.

He took a step forward, eyeing her hungrily. He remembered how badly he’d wanted Derek to tear her to shreds when they first met. How evidently he’d craved the sight of blood. 

“You wanna know what he did to me?” Stiles asked, raising the knife upward. Erica flinched, jumping to her feet, as Stiles swung the knife forward. However, he wasn’t aiming for her. Instead, he plunged the bleed deep inside his own forearm, tearing it down his flesh until it reached his wrist.

Blood pooled from his arm, soaking his pants and the ground around him in a vicious circle of red. Erica reached forward blindly, her face contorted in horror, unsure what to do. 

Breathing deeply through his nose, Stiles let the dagger rest at his feet, clinking against the ground as it fell. His arm shook violently but he would not dare tear his eyes from Erica’s, narrowed in hate.

“He stole everything that made me human.” Stiles admitted, the blood loss drawing his face pale. Finally, he allowed his eyes to drop to the wound he’d created and Erica’s gaze followed. Almost instantly, the skin began to stitch itself back together, pushing the blood across his skin. In hardly a minutes time, the wound had entirely disappeared.

“Wha..” Erica gasped.

“So are you satisfied?” Stiles asked coldly, feeling his heart increase in speed and his breath coming uneven. “Now that you know what an abomination he’s made of me? You keep calling me human, but I’m not anymore. I don’t even know what I am but I’m not me. I’m not Stiles. And it’s fucking terrifying because what if I do find my dad and he doesn’t like what I’ve become? What if I can’t control this darkness he’s instilled inside of me? Because I’ve spent every waking moment of this trip trying desperately to be scared but I can’t think of any reasons I even want to be alive anymore. So that’s what he did to me. That’s what Peter Hale has done to me and what he’ll continue to do to countless more, I’m sure. Is that good? Are you happy now? Or would you like to hear more?”

Erica shook her head, lowering herself gently to her spot on the ground. After a heavy moment, Stiles did the same. The two ignored each others eye contact, instead letting his words permeate the air in uncomfortably thick waves. His eyes felt wet but he refused to cry. All of this had been going through his mind since he first escaped the Hale house but he’d never said it out loud. Now that he had he couldn’t escape the overbearing lump in his throat.

Finally, right when Stiles had begun to think he’d silenced Erica for good, she gently lifted her chin and whispered in a tone heavy with grief, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I-“ Stiles began to retaliate but Erica lifted a single finger and he paused.

“I’m sorry that you can’t see any reasons to stay alive. Especially when you have so many of them.” 

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded, unwilling to let her win this one.

“Because..” She breathed out, meeting Stiles eye line with those bright blue eyes of hers. “Someone once stole my humanity too.” 

Her gaze flickered so briefly to Derek that Stiles wondered if he’d imagined it. What did that mean? As far as he knew, werewolves didn’t like turning humans because they preferred pure bloods being in their pack. Had someone bit Erica and turned her? And what did that have to do with Derek?

Stiles sighed, allowing his tired eyes to rest on Derek’s sleeping form. His chest rose and then fell in a peaceful rhythm and slowly, Stiles matched his breathing. He was still shaking pretty hard from the whole event and his arm was growing stiff from the drying blood but he didn’t want to think about any of it. He wanted to ignore the fact that his chest grew heavy when he thought about leaving Derek for the humans and he wanted to forget that Erica had unquestionably helped them to get Stiles to safety. 

He wanted so badly to believe they must have ulterior motives. He wanted to believe that all wolves were evil and that his whole life philosophy wasn’t morphing into something new before his eyes.

He wanted to sleep.

The next morning Stiles awoke to the deep guttural sound of Derek growling.

“No.” Derek barked. “That’s not an option.” 

Stiles ran a hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes, before pulling his body into a sitting position. He felt heavy and every part of him ached. He didn’t miss much about the Hale mansion but sleeping in a bed was at least better than the ground.

A few feet away from him, Derek and Erica stood face to face, fury evident on both of their expressions.

“This isn’t about you, Derek!” Erica snarled. “This is bigger than you! Much bigger than you. I’m faster than you, I can be there in under three hours!” 

“It’s not going to happen!” 

Stiles yawned, stretching his arms above his head. Several parts of him audibly cracked before he finally stood and faced the two wolves.

“No, we’re not going to separate.” Derek ordered.

“What’s going on?” He inquired sleepily.

“We’re leaving.” Derek snapped and Erica snorted.

“Tell him, Derek!” Erica insisted. Nothing they were saying was making sense.. “Tell him how he could be at safety before noon but you won’t let him go.”

“I don’t want to go without Derek!” Stiles squeaked.

Derek whisked past the blonde, a gust of air rustling her hair. Stiles stayed put, confused.

“It’s nothing.” Derek insisted. “If we leave now, we’ll be fine on time. We just have to-“

“It is not nothing!” Erica nearly screeched. “Derek Hale, whatever guilt you’re trying to make up for with him,” Erica gestured wildly in Stiles direction, “is no excuse for such stupidity. You are not an alpha. You cannot match him. And when Peter comes crashing through these woods and kills him in front of you, then what will you do, huh? Just find another human and keep repeating the process until you feel better about yourself?” 

“Woah, woah..” Stiles objected. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Stiles,” Derek warned, “stay out of this. Erica, you’re out of line.” 

“I’m out of line?” She screamed. “You’ve been out of line for years! Goddamnit, Derek, this isn’t about you! There’s a rebellion just over the horizon and so much stands on the survival of this kid. This might be the only chance we get to ever cease the reign of Peter Hale and you’re going to let that all go to shit just because.. because what? You have feelings for him? You love him? Bullshit. You know who I loved, Derek?”

Derek’s face crumbled noticeable, yet his tone remained even. “Erica, stop.”

“Boyd. I had loved Boyd. And you know what? He had feelings for me too. But what did you tell me? You told me that it wasn’t important. That the war was so much bigger than my ‘stupid, teenage crush.’ Well, guess what. We’re at war again and if Peter gets ahold of Stiles before we can get him to safety, then everything collapses.”

Derek’s mouth fell open slightly but he didn’t respond, guilt etched into every line of his face. Erica’s face was streaked with tears, her hair clinging wildly to the dampness on her cheeks. 

“And to think I almost forgave you for what you turned us into.. And as for you-“ Erica swung herself around until she was facing a very confused, trembling Stiles. “Nothing to live for?! You make me sick. Give it a few hours and I’m sure Peter will remind you of all the things you tried to stay alive for.”

Erica turned on her heels, bee lining it for the darkness of the forest. Briefly, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

“Run.. fast.” She spat, then was gone just as suddenly as she’d appeared, into the tree tops.

The two men watched the place where Erica had disappeared from for a few heavy moments, both terrified to face the other. Stiles head spun with the weight of the new information. None of it made any sense. Was Peter on their trail?! And what did Erica mean about a rebellion? He knew about the humans but.. there was no way they could be powerful enough to take down someone like Peter Hale. And even if they did, what role did he play in that? He was just some kid. He wasn’t important, he wasn’t strong. In fact, he was hardly human at all anymore. Why the hell would anything matter on his survival?

Then there was the whole other issue about Derek maybe having significant feelings for… Well, maybe he wouldn’t think on that now. It was too much at once. Too much he couldn’t handle.

“Derek…” Stiles squeaked when the wolf hadn’t moved for what felt an eternity. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He just wanted to reach out and touch him, make Derek promise him that everything was going to be alright. 

But he didn’t.

“Derek… come on.” Stiles continued shakily, subconsciously picking at the flaking dry blood on his arm from the night before. Derek let a long stream of air fall from his cracked, dry lips before he turned. His eyes fell on the blood on Stiles arm before anything, but he didn’t say anything. Just stared sadly at his companion in the way one would before saying a final goodbye. 

“Erica saw smoke coming from the trees only a few miles back. She thinks it’s.. um.. She thinks they were sent by Peter to find us. It was still quite a ways back but with both of us on foot, we need to hurry if we have any chance of making it.”

Stiles couldn’t move, feeling the familiar wave of paralysis wash over him. He wanted to shake his head or scream or anything but he couldn’t. He just stood there in full acknowledgement that they had lost. He wanted to believe Derek so badly that they could still make it but.. he didn’t. 

“What did she mean when she said…” Stiles paused, swallowing hard. “When Erica said we’re at war again. What did she mean?”

“Stiles please..” Derek whispered, running a hand through his air and sighing rashly.

“No, Derek, tell me. What is going on here? Why haven’t you told me about any of this?”

“It’s not that simple..” Derek mumbled, unable to meet Stiles eyes, and pacing nervously.

“Derek.” Stiles started, his voice cracking. “I’m scared, Derek, okay? I am and I.. I don’t understand any of this. Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Suddenly, Derek took a few eager steps forward, grabbing Stiles hand in his own and tugging him forward. Stiles flinched.

“We have to go!” Derek insisted, his own voice wet with emotion that Stiles didn’t understand.

“No, Derek!” Stiles promptly screamed, jerking his hand out of Derek’s grasp. “Look at me and tell me what’s going on!”

Derek took a few uneasy, aimless steps, his body rocking as he attempted to make up his mind. Part of him looked like he might throw Stiles over his shoulder and continue on like that. The rest of him looked like he might break down and collapse.

However, neither happened and instead Derek took a few uneasy breathes, his shoulders bobbing up and down. He stayed like this for a while, his head tucked down and his hands shaking. Finally, Stiles moved toward him. He did this until they were feet away from each other, then inches and Stiles had Derek’s chin cupped in his own hand.

Gently, he lifted Derek’s face with his fingers, feeling the scratchy skin of his beard tickle against his hand. His stomach tightened, flipping in every direction, and a heavy clod formed in his throat.

“I couldn’t let her take you away from me…” Derek whispered shamefully, his body heaving. Stiles didn’t respond but instead gently trailed his fingers across Derek’s skin until he was cupping the side of his face. Without even thinking, he raised his other hand and did the same on the other side until he was holding the man before him. Stiles entire body tightened with nerves but something about the heat radiating from Derek’s body felt right and welcoming. Like this was exactly where they were meant to be. “I couldn’t be strong enough for you.”

“Good.” Stiles finally spat out, laughing between spurts of breathe. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here… with you.” 

Derek dropped his eyes to the ground, his shoulders still quaking violently. Stiles eye navigated every aspect of Derek’s face, drawing in his every detail. Erica was right. He had so much to live for and part of it was standing right before him.. Stiles face flushed a deep red, inhaling Derek’s scent and pressing his face into the warmth of his collar bone. God, this was all he needed. This was all he wanted. And now that he’d finally found it, he was tip toeing on the precipice of death.

“Derek..” Stiles whispered in a strangled raspy voice against Derek’s neck. “Derek, we have to go..” 

For a moment, Derek didn’t move. He just held them both there in their warm, safe embrace while dark, black clouds began to move over the sun above them. Immediately, the forest grew dark, shadows reaching hungrily for them.

In a single deep breath, Derek released Stiles from his arms and stepped away. His eyes were wet, but so were Stiles. They’d made it this far, right?

“I’ve escaped Peter once, I can do it again.” Stiles breathed confidently. “Okay?” 

Derek simply nodded.

“Okay.”

\- - 

They’re running. Stiles isn’t sure for how long or even if they’re going in the right direction but after a large black cloud heavy with rain steadied itself over the sun, the forest became much more difficult to navigate. They’d hardly been an hour outside the came when they’d heard the footsteps behind them.

 

So they ran as fast as they could and as far as they could, gasping for air as their lungs tightened painfully in their chests but they did not stop. They couldn’t. They would not let Peter win.

“This way!” Derek commanded, not even bothering to keep his voice low anymore. Stiles nodded, unable to press anymore air from his lungs than was necessary to keep him pressing forward. Step, step, step. That was all he had to do to live. Just keep going. He was positive he could hear them behind him. How close were they? A couple yards? Feet? Could they see him right now?

Stiles didn’t stop to check. Instead, he focused intently upon the mass of a werewolf in front of him, clearing their path and charging ahead with ferocity he’d never seen before. 

“Keep going, Stiles.” Derek urged and Stiles did. Maybe if he could just last another few minutes he’d make it.. Maybe then they wouldn’t catch him. Maybe he’d survive.

Stiles went spiraling into the ground. His foot caught on a lose branch, he caught himself on his palms (effectively bruising the soft underbelly of his hands) but still- that didn’t keep his face from smacking against the cold dirt. He wanted to swear, to scream, anything. But his lungs wouldn’t let him. How long had they been running? It felt like years… He couldn’t even will his legs to stand, he couldn’t even feel them.

Maybe this was another nightmare. Maybe he was dreaming and he’d wake up and Derek would be curled up beside him, safe and sound away from Peter and his approaching forces. Stiles knelt forward and a sharp pain shot up his leg. Fuck, okay maybe not. He must have broken it.

From somewhere behind him, the footsteps grew intimating close. Stiles lowered himself to the ground, hoping he might disappeared right into the curst of the Earth and merely waited. Derek was gone and he couldn’t risk calling out for him. Was this it? Was this how he went? Tripping and breaking his leg like some stereotypical horror movie cliché? 

The footsteps continued, decreasing their distance by the second. He was maybe minutes from being spotted. Would they kill him instantly or drag him back to the house and kill him there? Either way, he was fucked.

His stalker was right on him now, somewhere almost directly behind him. Surely any second now they’d spot him.. Just a few more steps.

Suddenly, something rustled in the bushed to his far right and the footsteps paused. For a moment, all was silent. Once more, the rustling started, only further right.

“Hey, this way!” A gruff voice from no far behind called out, before retreating away from Stiles toward the noises. Quickly, the footsteps all but disappeared.

“Derek…?” Stiles finally dared to whisper, gingerly pressing his fingers against the sore part of his leg. He could already feel the bones attempting to mend themselves back together.

“Not quite.” A voice responded and a blur of blonde dropped from the trees above. Erica was suddenly crouched before him, her hair pulled back from her face and her features red with worry.

“There’s at least five of them.” Erica whispered, eyeing Stiles wound but maintaining a safe distance. “Derek is only a few yards ahead. Once you find him, keep running west bound. I’ll lead them to the east.”

Stiles shook his head in confusion. “What? No. That’s too dangerous. What if they catch you?”

Erica chuckled deeply, yet her eyes still drooped sadly. “These are my woods, remember? Even Peter Hale himself doesn’t know every rock and stream like I do. Let’s try and see them catch up.”

Stiles swallowed, attempting to right himself while the blood pumped viciously into his leg.

“It’s too dangerous.. I won’t let you-“ Stiles started but Erica waved of his protests with a single, slender hand.

“Continue going west until you reach the pathway. That should lead you directly to Lake Mac Tire. You’ll find your people there, Stiles.” 

With a heavy breath, Stiles nodded, realizing there would be no convincing Erica otherwise. She turned to go with a final nod but stopped before fleeing.

“Oh and Stiles?”

Stiles paused, licking lips.

“Forget what I said before… Let someone else be the hero.”

“But-“ Stiles started but she was already gone, disappeared high into the trees and off to, no doubt, save his ass.

\- - 

Erica hadn’t run like this in years. Bounding from tree to tree, the female smiled to herself while the wind raked its lovely fingers through her hair and polished her face. She could distinctly remember a time when these mountains were merely a hide out to her, somewhere to lay low while the war died out. 

Now, they were more than a home. They were a whole part of her.

“Hey, dick face! Over here!” She called, tossing her hair defiantly behind her. In a moment, at least a dozen bullets were whipping through the air where she stood.

However, Erica was already bound to the next tree, then the next, effectively leading the team of hunters as far as she could from where she’d directed Stiles and Derek to go. Those two goddamn morons. When were people going to learn to just listen to her in the first place? Save them all some time and energy…

Speaking of energy, the hunters below began to heave out heavy gasps of air and Erica slowed up slightly, watching them through the tree trunks while they lamely navigated the woods. Peter must be getting lazy. He wasn’t even sending his best men anymore.

“THESE are Peter Hale’s strongest and bravest?!” Erica laughed from her place, camouflaged by greenery. “Old man must be losing his touch!” 

A few stray bullets dug themselves into the trunk beside her. 

“You know, bullets aren’t very eco-friendly. That’s no way to save the planet.”

With the sound of her voice ringing in their ears, the hunters leapt forward with a surge of energy but they just could not keep up with her. Years of expertise put her at the advantage.

“How about one of you low life, ass kissing bastards do me a favor, will ya?” Erica chimed, hardly skipping through the leaves now as the hunters had fallen far behind. She was a straight shot toward safety, a more eastern part of the mountains full of hidden caves she could rest in while they only got themselves further lost.

“When you go back and you have to tell Peter Hale that you failed to capture a scrawny teenage human boy that probably weighs less than I do, why don’t you tell him something for me? Huh? Will you do that for me boys?”

Erica cackled, making a final leap across a stretch of bushes. One more jump and she would be home free. They’d never find her in there..

“Why don’t you tell him-“

Something heavy suddenly draped itself across her shoulders and she felt the weight pull her to the ground. Her face dug harshly into the dirt while her limbs twisted painfully around her. More weight joined the first until she was being bond in place, blood streaking down her face. Before long, she realized that the weight belonged to chains tied up like lassos now wrapped around her torso and legs. It was only moments before three faceless men rushed out of the woods and tightened the bondage around her. She snapped at them ruthlessly, snarling without conviction, and writhing animatedly. 

A voice was what stopped her. A deep voice with a slow drawl and brushing past lips stained with years of spilt blood.

“Why don’t you tell me yourself...” A voice belonging to Peter Hale.

The alpha stepped out of the trees, throwing back his jacket and tucking his hands inside his pockets. His hair was slicked back and his lips pulled into a gut curling sneer. Erica growled deep inside her chest.

“Erica Reyes..” Peter finished.

The three henchmen stood beside Erica, holding the chains tightly in their fists, effectively squeezing her lungs tighter and tighter while containing her in a kneeling position on the ground.

“What did you want to tell me, hm?” Peter asked coolly, taking a few easy steps forward. “Now I’d think real hard about what it is because I don’t appreciate people who waste my time and I think you know what I’m looking for.”  
Erica coughed, choking as the chains tightened her chest further and her eyes flashed their brilliant blue. Peter’s face fell stern, his eyes burning red and not moving from their position on Erica. The men continued to pull at the ropes, suffocating her.

She coughed again and again, until finally something escaped her lips that could have been taken as a “stop” muffled intensely by her crushed lungs.

Peter raised two lazy fingers into the air and the men loosened the chains. Erica immediately sucked in large tufts of air, gasping and choking in an attempt to inflate her lungs back to normal.

“Are we ready to cooperate?”

Erica’s eyes fell to the ground where she focused before weakly nodding.

“That’s a good girl.” Peter cooed, then gracefully crouched before her until their faces were hardly two feet apart. “Now.. What are you going to tell me?”

Erica heaved a few more breathes, before slowly lifting her eyes from the ground to meet Peters. She met only ireful hatred there, setting her entire body aflame. She didn’t know what he’d do to her if she didn’t give up Derek and Stiles but she was confident he’d make it hurt.

She nodded slowly, pressing her lips together. She was going to hell after this.

“Fuck…. You.” Erica breathed out. Immediately, Peter’s eyes were ablaze but she wasn’t afraid anymore. In fact, she was laughing. She was laughing so hard the sound reverberated around the forest and echoed off every single tree. There was nothing Peter could do to her anymore. Everyone she loved was long gone.

Peter straightened his knees until he was standing at full volume. The surrounding men all flinched at the small action, positive their alpha might destroy the entire forest in his rage. Much to their surprise, he hardly seemed angry. In fact, his features were cool and settled calmly into an amused expression.

He turned gracefully on his heels as if to leave and the men all grabbed at the chains again, preparing to follow instructions when given. But then, Peter turned once more, facing Erica again. His mouth fell open, ready to speak.

Instead, in a single swipe, Peter raised a clawed hand and drew it quickly across Erica’s throat. Blood streamed down the chains and across her entire torso. Wide eyed and pale, her body almost immediately slumped forward: completely void of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a nice, long chapter to make up for my inability to update sufficiently! Let me know what you think in the comment section! As always, I appreciate all your lovely comments and support! It means the world to me!


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